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iV'-Kf^yr'.':)'' 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 


r 


,yAe^:^n^At^  ^/  //  y  /^//e'l^-^ok^. 


THE 


mGOLDSBY  LEGENDS 


// 


OR, 


MIRTH  AND  MARVELS. 


&    I 


RICHARD    HARRIS    BARHAM. 

[THOMAS  INGOLDSBY,  Esquire.] 


IN   TWO   VOLUMES. 
Vol.  I. 


PHILADELPHIA  : 
PORTER    AND    COATES. 

1885. 


.-jFouc  ftiinittJi  aiii  fiffj}  copfca  ptintrt. 


No ;i.:r;..k. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


7>^ 

CONTENTS  OF  VOLUME  I. 


PAGK 

The  Spectke  of  Tappington 17 

The  Nukse's  Story— The  Hand  of  Glory 44 

Patty    Morgan    the    Milkmaid's    Story— "Look    at    the 

Clock" 61 

Gray  Dolphin 59 

The  Ghost 79 

The  Cynotaph 88 

Mrs.  Botherby's  Story— The  Leech  of  Folkestone      .       .  94 

Legend  of  Hamilton  Tighe 121 

The  Witches'  Frolic 126 

Singular    Passage    in    the    Life    of    the    Late    Hi^^-^v 

Harris,  D.D., 140 

The  Jackdaw  ok  Rheims 164 

A  Lay  of  St.  Dunstan 168 

A  Lay  of  St.  Gengulphtjs 179 

The  Lay  of  St.  Odille 189 

A  Lay  of  St.  Nicholas 196 

The  Lady  Rohesia 205 

The  Tragedy 213 

Mr.  Barney  Maguire's  Account  of  the  Coronation     .       .  217 

The  "Monstre"  Balloon 220 

Hon.  Mr.  Sucklethumbkin's  Story— The  Execution      .       .  224 

Some  Account  of  a  New  Play 228 

Mr.  Peters's  Story— The  Bagman's  Dog 237 

Appendix 254 

(  xiii  ) 


MEMOIR  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 


KiCHAED  Harris  Barham,  a  celebrated  humorist,  better 
known  by  his  nom  de  plume  of  "  Thomas  Ingoldsby,"  was  born 
at  Canterbury,  December  6,  1788,  At  seven  years  of  age  he 
lost  his  father,  who  left  him  a  small  estate,  part  of  which  was 
the  manor  of  Tappington,  so  frequently  mentioned  in  the 
Legends.  At  nine  he  was  sent  to  St.  Paul's  school,  but  his 
studies  were  interrupted  by  an  accident  which  shattered  his 
arm  and  partially  crippled  it  for  life.  Thus  deprived  of  the 
power  of  bodily  activity,  he  became  a  great  reader  and  diligent 
student.  In  1807  he  entered  Brasenose  College,  Oxford,  in- 
tending at  first  to  study  for  the  profession  of  the  law.  Cir- 
cumstances, however,  induced  him  to  change  his  mind  and  to 
enter  the  church.  The  choice  seems  surprising,  for  he  had 
from  childhood  displayed  that  propensity  to  fun  in  the  form 
of  parody  and  punning  which  afterwards  made  him  a  reputa- 
tion. In  1813  he  was  ordained  and  took  a  country  curacy; 
he  married  in  the  following  year,  and  in  1821  removed  to 
liondon  on  obtaining  the  appointment  of  minor  canon  of  St. 
Paul's  Cathedral.  Three  years  later  he  became  one  of  the 
priests  in  ordinary  of  his  Majesty's  chapel  royal.  In  1826  he 
first  contributed  to  Blackwood's  Magazine;  and  on  the  estab- 
lishment of  Bentley's  Miscellany  in  1837  he  began  to  furnish 
the  series  of  grotesque  metrical  tales  known  as  The  Ingoldsby 
Legends.  These  became  very  popular,  were  published  in  a 
collected  form,  and  have  since  passed  through  numerous 
editions.     In  varietv  and  whimsicality  of  rhymes  these  verses 

(V) 


vi  MEMOIR    OF  THE  AUTHOR. 

have  hardly  a  rival  since  the  days  of  Hudihras.  But  beneath 
this  obvious  popular  quality  there  lies  a  store  of  solid  anti- 
quarian learning,  the  fruit  of  patient  enthusiastic  research  by 
the  light  of  the  midnight  lamp,  in  out-of-the-way  old  books, 
which  few  readers  who  laugh  over  his  pages  detect.  If  it 
were  of  any  avail  we  might  regret  that  a  more  active  faculty 
of  veneration  did  not  keep  him  from  writing  some  objection- 
able passages  of  the  Legends.  His  life  was  grave,  dignified, 
and  highly  honored.  His  sound  judgment  and  his  kind  heart 
made  him  the  trusted  counsellor,  the  valued  friend,  and  the 
frequent  peacemaker;  and  he  was  intolerant  of  all  that  was 
mean,  and  base,  and  false.  In  politics  he  was  a  Tory  of  the 
old  school;  yet  he  was  the  life-long  friend  of  the  liberal 
Sydney  Smith,  whom  in  many  respects  he  singularly  resem- 
bled. Theodore  Hook  was  one  of  his  most  intimate  friends. 
Mr.  Barham  was  a  contributor  to  the  Edinburgh  Review  and 
the  Literary  Gazette;  published  a  novel  in  three  volumes, 
entitled  My  Cousin  Nicholas;  and,  strange  to  tell,  wrote  nearly 
a  third  of  the  articles  in  Gorton's  Biographical  Dictionary. 
His  life  was  not  without  such  changes  and  sorrows  as  make 
men  grave.  He  had  nine  children,  and  six  of  them  died  in 
his  lifetime.  But  he  retained  vigor  and  freshness  of  heart 
and  mind  to  the  last,  and  his  latest  verses  show  no  signs  of 
decay.  He  died  in  London  after  a  long  and  painful  illness, 
June  17,  1845. — Encyclopoddia  Britannica. 


TO  RICHAED  BENTLEY,  ESQ. 


My  dear  Sir: — 

You  wish  me  to  collect  into  a  single  volume  certain  ram- 
bling extracts  from  our  family  memoranda,  many  of  which 
have  already  appeared  in  the  pages  of  your  Miscellany.  At 
the  same  time  you  tell  me  that  doubts  are  entertained  in 
certain  quarters  as  to  the  authenticity  of  their  details. 

Now  with  respect  to  their  genuineness,  the  old  oak  chest,  in 
which  the  originals  are  deposited,  is  not  more  familiar  to  my 
eyes  than  it  is  to  your  own;  and  if  its  contents  have  any 
value  at  all,  it  consists  in  the  strict  veracity  of  the  facts  they 
record. 

To  convince  the  most  incredulous  I  can  only  add  that 
should  business — pleasure  is  out  of  the  question — ever  call 
them  into  the  neighborhood  of  Folkestone,  let  them  take 
the  high  road  from  Canterbury  to  Dover  till  they  reach  the 
eastern  extremity  of  Barham  Downs.  Here  a  beautiful  green 
lane  diverging  abruptly  to  the  right  will  carry  them  through 
the  Oxenden  plantations  and  the  unpretending  village  of 
Denton  to  the  foot  of  a  very  respectable  hill — as  hills  go  in 
this  part  of  Europe.  On  reaching  its  summit  let  them  look 
straight  before  them, — and  if,  among  the  hanging  woods  which 
crown  the  opposite  side  of  the  valley,  they  cannot  distinguish 
an  antiquated  Manor-house  of  Elizabethan  architecture,  with 
its  gable  ends,  stone  stanchions,  and  tortuous  chimneys  risiug 
above  the  surrounding  trees,  why — the  sooner  they  procure  a 
pair  of  Dollond's  patent  spectacles  the  better. 

(vii) 


Viii  PREFACE. 

If,  on  the  contrary,  they  can  manage  to  descry  it,  and,  pro- 
ceeding some  five  or  six  furlongs  through  the  avenue,  will  ring 
at  the  Lodge  gate, — they  cannot  mistake  the  stone  lion  with 
the  Ingoldsby  escutcheon  (Ermine,  a  saltire  engrailed  Gules) 
in  his  paws, — they  will  be  received  with  a  hearty  old  English 
welcome. 

The  papers  in  question  having  been  written  by  difierent 
parties,  and  at  various  periods,  I  have  thought  it  advisable 
to  reduce  the  more  ancient  of  them  into  a  comparatively 
modern  phraseology,  and  to  make  my  collateral  ancestor, 
Father  John,  especially,  "  deliver  himself  like  a  man  of  this 
world;"  Mr,  Maguire,  indeed,  is  the  only  Gentleman  who, 
in  his  account  of  the  late  Coronation,  retains  his  own  rich 
vernacular. 

As  to  arrangement,  I  shall  adopt  the  sentiment  expressed 

by  the  Constable  of  Bourbon  four  centuries  ago,  teste   Shak- 

speare,  one  which   seems  to  become  more  fashionable  every 

day, 

"  The  Devil  take  all  order ! !— I'll  to  the  throng  I" 

Believe  me  to  be, 

My  dear  Sir, 
Yours,  most  indubitably  and  immeasurably, 

THOMAS  INGOLDSBY. 

Tappington  Eveeakd,  Jan.  20,  1840. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 


TO  RICHARD  BENTLEY,  ESQ. 

My  dear  Sir: — 

I  should  have  replied  sooner  to  your  letter,  but  that  the  last 
three  days  in  January  are,  as  you  are  aware,  always  dedicated, 
at  the  Hall,  to  an  especial  battue,  and  the  old  house  is  full  of 
shooting-jackets,  shot-belts,  and  "  double  Joes."  Even  the 
women  wear  percussion  caps,  and  your  favorite  (?)  Rover,  who, 
you  may  remember,  examined  the  calves  of  your  legs  with 
such  suspicious  curiosity  at  Christmas,  is  as  pheasant-mad  as 
if  he  were  a  biped,  instead  of  being  a  genuine  four-legged  scion 
of  the  Blenheim  breed.  I  have  managed,  however,  to  avail 
myself  of  a  lucid  interval  in  the  general  hallucination  (how 
the  rain  did  come  down  on  Monday !),  and  as  you  tell  me  the 
excellent  friend  whom  you  are  in  the  habit  of  styling  "  a  Gen- 
erous and  Enlightened  Public"  has  emptied  your  shelves  of 
the  first  edition,  and  "  asks  for  more,"  why,  I  agree  with  you, 
it  would  be  a  want  of  respect  to  that  very  respectable  person- 
ification, when  furnishing  him  with  a  further  supply,  not  to 
endeavor,  at  least,  to  amend  my  faults,  which  are  few,  and 
your  own,  which  are  more  numerous.  I  have,  therefore,  gone 
to  work  con  amore,  supplying  occasionally  on  my  own  part  a 
deficient  note  or  elucidatory  stanza,  and  on  yours  knocking 
out,  without  remorse,  your  superfluous  i's,  and  now  and  then 
eviscerating  your  colon. 

My  duty  to  your  illustrious  friend  thus  performed,  I  have 

(ix) 


X  PREFACE  TO   THE  SECOND  EDITION. 

a  crow  to  pluck  with  him.    Why  will  he  persist— as  you  tell 

me  he  does  persist — in  calling  me  by  all  sorts  of  names  but 

those  to  which  I  am   entitled  by  birth  and   baptism — my 

"Sponsorial  and  Patronymic   appellations,"  as  Dr.   Panglosa 

has  it?     Mrs.  Malaprop  complains,  and  with  justice,  of  an 

"  assault  upon  her  parts  of  speech ;"  but  to  attack  one's  very 

existence — to  deny  that  one  is  a  person  in  esse,  and  scarcely  to 

admit  that  one  may  he  a  person  in  posse — is  tenfold  cruelty ; — 

"it  is  pressing  to  death,  whipping,  and  hanging!"     Let  me 

entreat  all   such  likewise   to  remember  that,  as   Shakspeare 

beautifully  expresses  himself  elsewhere — I  give  his  words  as 

quoted  by  a  very  worthy  baronet  in  a  neighboring  county, 

when   protesting  against  a  defamatory  placard  at  a  general 

election — 

"  Who  steals  my  purse  steals  stuff! — 
'Twas  mine — 'tisn't  his — nor  nobody  else's ! 
But  he  who  runs  away  with  my  Good  Name, 
Robs  me  of  what  does  not  do  him  any  good. 
And  makes  me  deuced  poor ! !"  * 

In  order  utterly  to  squabash  and  demolish  every  gainsayer, 
I  had  thought,  at  one  time,  of  asking  my  old  and  esteemed 
friend,  Eichard  Lane,  to  crush  them  at  once  with  his  magic 
pencil,  and  to  transmit  my  features  to  posterity,  where  all  his 
works  are  sure  to  be  "  delivered  according  to  the  direction ;" 
but  somehow  the  noble-looking  profiles  which  he  has  recently 
executed  of  the  Kemble  family  put  me  a  little  out  of  conceit 
of  my  own;  while  the  undisguised  amusement  which  my 
"  Mephistopheles  eyebrow,"  as  he  termed  it,  aflforded  him  in 
the  "  full  face,"  induced  me  to  lay  aside  the  design.  Besides, 
my  dear  sir,  since,  as  has  been  well  observed,  "  there  never  was 
a  married  man  yet  who  had  not  somebody  remarkably  like 
him  walking  about  town,"  it  is  a  thousand  to  one  but  my  lin- 
eaments might  after  all,  out  of  sheer  perverseness,  be  ascribed 

*  A  reading  which  seems  most  unaccountably  to  have  escaped  the  researches  of  all 
modern  Shakspeareans,  including  the  rival  editors  of  the  new  and  illustrated  versions. 


PREFACE   TO    THE  SECOND   EDITION. 


xi 


to  any  body  rather  than  to  the  real  owner.  I  have  therefore 
sent  you,  instead  thereof,  a  fair  sketch  of  Tappington,  taken 
from  the  Folkestone  road  (I  tore  it  last  night  out  of  Julia 
Simpkinson's   album) :   get  Gilks   to   make   a  woodcut  of  it. 


And  now,  if  any  miscreant  (I  use  the  word  only  in  its  primary 
and  "Pickwickian"  sense  of  "Unbeliever")  ventures  to  throw 
any  further  doubt  upon  the  matter,  why,  as  Jack  Cade's  friend 
says  in  the  play,  "  There  are  the  chimneys  in  my  father's  house, 
and  the  bricks  are  alive  at  this  day  to  testify  it !" 
"  Why,  very  well  then — we  hope  here  be  truths !" 
Heaven  be  with  you,  my  dear  sir! — I  was  getting  a  little 
excited  ;  but  you,  who  are  mild  as  the  milk  that  dews  the  soft 
whisker  of  the  new-weaned  kitten,  will  forgive  me  when,  wiping 
away  the  nascent  moisture  from  my  brow,  I  "pull  in,"  and 

subscribe  myself, 

Yours  quite  as  much  as  his  own, 

THOMAS  INGOLDSBY. 

Tappington  Eveeaed,  Feb.  2,  1848. 


THE 


INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 


^f)e  Spectre  of  ^appington. 

"  TT  is  very  odd,  thougli ;  what  can  have  become  of  them  ?" 
J-  said  Charles  Seaforth,  as  he  peeped  under  the  valance 
of  an  old-fashioned  bedstead,  in  an  old-fashioned  apartment  of 
a  still  more  old-fashioned  manor-house ;  "  'tis  confoundedly  odd, 
and  I  can't  make  it  out  at  all.  Why,  Barney,  where  are  they  ? 
— and  where  the  d — 1  are  you  ?" 

No  answer  was  returned  to  this  appeal ;  and  the  lieutenant, 
who  was,  in  the  main,  a  reasonable  person — at  least  as  reason- 
able a  person  as  any  young  gentleman  of  twenty-two  in  "  the 
service"  can  fairly  be  expected  to  be — cooled  when  he  reflected 
that  his  servant  could  scarcely  reply  extempore  to  a  summons 
which  it  was  impossible  he  should  hear. 

An  application  to  the  bell  was  the  considerate  result ;  and  the 
footsteps  of  as  tight  a  lad  as  ever  put  pipe-clay  to  belt  sounded 
along  the  gallery. 

"  Come  in !"  said  his  master.  An  ineffectual  attempt  upon 
the  door  reminded  Mr.  Seaforth  that  he  had  locked  himself  in. 
"  By  heaven !  this  is  the  oddest  thing  of  all,"  said  he,  as  he 
turned  the  key  and  admitted  Mr.  Maguire  into  his  dormitory. 

"  Barney,  where  are  my  pantaloons  ?" 

"  Is  it  the  breeches  ?"  asked  the  valet,  casting  an  inquiring 
eye  round  the  apartment : — "  is  it  the  breeches,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  what  have  you  done  with  them '?" 

"  Sure  then  your  honor  had  them  on  when  you  went  to  bed, 
and  it's  hereabout  they'll  be,  I'll  be  bail ;"  and  Barney  lifted  a 
fashionable  tunic  from  a  cane-backed  arm-chair,  proceeding  in 
2  (17) 


18  THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON. 

his  examination.  But  the  search  was  vain  :  there  was  the  tunic 
aforesaid ;  there  was  a  smart-looking  kerseymere  waistcoat ;  but 
the  most  important  article  of  all  in  a  gentleman's  wardrobe  was 
still  wanting. 

"  Where  can  they  be  ?"  asked  the  master,  with  a  strong  ac- 
cent on  the  auxiliary  verb. 

"  Sorrow  a  know  I  knows,"  said  the  man. 

"  It  must  have  been  the  devil,  then,  after  all,  who  has  been 
here  and  carried  them  off!"  cried  Seaforth,  staring  full  into 
Barney's  face. 

Mr.  Maguire  was  not  devoid  of  the  superstition  of  his  country- 
men, still  he  looked  as  if  he  did  not  quite  subscribe  to  the 
sequitur. 

His  master  read  incredulity  in  his  countenance.  "Why,  I 
tell  you,  Barney,  I  put  them  there,  on  that  arm-chair,  when  I 
got  into  bed ;  and,  by  heaven !  I  distinctly  saw  the  ghost  of 
the  old  fellow  they  told  me  of  come  in  at  midnight,  put  on  my 
pantaloons,  and  walk  away  with  them." 

"  May  be  so,"  was  the  cautious  reply. 

"  I  thought,  of  course,  it  was  a  dream ;  but  then — where  the 
d — 1  are  the  breeches  ?" 

The  question  was  more  easily  asked  than  answered.  Barney- 
renewed  his  search,  while  the  lieutenant  folded  his  arms,  and, 
leaning  against  the  toilet,  sank  into  a  reverie. 

"  After  all,  it  must  be  some  trick  of  my  laughter-loving 
cousins,"  said  Seaforth. 

"  Ah  !  then,  the  ladies !"  chimed  in  Mr.  Maguire,  though  the 
observation  was  not  addressed  to  him ;  "  and  will  it  be  Miss 
Caroline  or  Miss  Fanny  that's  stole  your  honor's  things  ?" 

"  I  hardly  know  what  to  think  of  it,"  pursued  the  bereaved 
lieutenant,  still  speaking  in  soliloquy,  with  his  eye  resting  dubi- 
ously on  the  chamber-door.  "  I  locked  myself  in,  that's  certain ; 
and — but  there  must  be  some  other  entrance  to  the  room — pooh ! 
I  remember — the  private  staircase;  how  could  I  be  such  a  fool?" 
and  he  crossed  the  chamber  to  where  a  low  oaken  doorcase  was 
dimly  visible  in  a  distant  corner.  He  jDaused  before  it.  Nothing 
now  interfered  to  screen  it  from  observation ;  but  it  bore  tokens 
of  having  been  at  some  earlier  period  concealed  by  tapestry, 
remains  of  which  yet  clothed  the  walls  on  either  side  the  portal. 


THE  SPECTRE  OF  TAPPINGTON.  19 

"This  way  they  must  have  come,"  said  Seaforth;  "I  wish 
with  all  my  heart  I  had  caught  them !" 

"  Och !  the  kittens !"  sighed  Mr.  Barney  Maguire. 

But  the  mystery  was  yet  as  far  from  being  solved  as  before. 
True,  there  was  the  "  other  door ;"  but  then  that,  too,  on  ex- 
amination, was  even  more  firmly  secured  than  the  one  which 
opened  on  the  gallery, — two  heavy  bolts  on  the  inside  effectu- 
ally prevented  any  coxip  de  main  on  the  lieutenant's  hivouac 
from  that  quarter.  He  was  more  puzzled  than  ever ;  nor  did 
the  minutest  inspection  of  the  walls  and  floor  throw  any  light 
upon  the  subject :  one  thing  only  was  clear, — the  breeches  were 
gone !     "  It  is  very  singular,"  said  the  lieutenant. 


Tappington  (generally  called  Tapton)  Everard  is  an  anti- 
quated but  commodious  manor-house  in  the  eastern  division  of 
the  county  of  Kent.  A  former  proprietor  had  been  high-sheriff 
in  the  days  of  Elizabeth,  and  many  a  dark  and  dismal  tradition 
was  yet  extant  of  the  licentiousness  of  his  life  and  the  enormity 
of  his  ofiences.  The  Glen,  which  the  keeper's  daughter  was 
seen  to  enter,  but  never  known  to  quit,  still  frowns  darkly  as  of 
yore ;  while  an  ineradicable  bloodstain  on  the  oaken  stair  yet 
bids  defiance  to  the  united  energies  of  soap  and  sand.  But  it  is 
with  one  particular  apartment  that  a  deed  of  more  especial 
atrocity  is  said  to  be  connected.  A  stranger  guest — so  runs  the 
legend — arrived  unexpectedly  at  the  mansion  of  the  "  Bad  Sir 
Giles."  They  met  in  apparent  friendship  ;  but  the  ill-concealed 
scowl  on  their  master's  brow  told  the  domestics  that  the  visit 
was  not  a  welcome  one ;  the  banquet,  however,  was  not  spared ; 
the  wine  cup  circulated  freely, — too  freely,  perhaps,  for  sounds 
of  discord  at  length  reached  the  ears  of  even  the  excluded 
serving-men,  as  they  were  doing  their  best  to  imitate  their  bet- 
ters in  the  lower  hall.  Alarmed,  some  of  them  ventured  to 
approach  the  parlor ;  one,  an  old  and  favored  retainer  of  the 
house,  went  so  far  as  to  break  in  upon  his  master's  privacy. 
Sir  Giles,  already  high  in  oath,  fiercely  enjoined  his  absence, 
and  he  retired;  not,  however,  before  he  had  distinctly  heard 
from  the  stranger's  lips  a  menace  that  "  there  was  that  within 


20  THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINOTON. 

his  pocket  which  could  disprove  the  knight's  right  to  issue  that 
or  any  other  command  within  the  walls  of  Tapton," 

The  intrusion,  though  momentary,  seemed  to  have  produced 
a  beneficial  effect ;  the  voices  of  the  disputants  fell,  and  the  con- 
versation was  carried  on  thenceforth  in  a  more  subdued  tone, 
till,  as  evening  closed  in,  the  domestics,  when  summoned  to 
attend  with  lights,  found  not  only  cordiality  restored,  but  that 
a  still  deeper  carouse  was  meditated.  Fresh  stoups,  and  from 
the  choicest  bins,  were  produced ;  nor  was  it  till  at  a  late,  or 
rather  early,  hour  that  the  revellers  sought  their  chambers. 

The  one  allotted  to  the  stranger  occupied  the  first  floor  of  the 
eastern  angle  of  the  building,  and  had  once  been  the  favorite 
apartment  of  Sir  Giles  himself.  Scandal  ascribed  this  prefer- 
ence to  the  facility  which  a  private  staircase,  communicating 
with  the  grounds,  had  afforded  him,  in  the  old  knight's  time,  of 
following  his  wicked  courses  unchecked  by  parental  observation ; 
a  consideration  which  ceased  to  be  of  weight  when  the  death  of 
his  father  left  him  uncontrolled  master  of  his  estate  and  actions. 
From  that  period  Sir  Giles  had  established  himself  in  what 
were  called  the  "  state  apartments,"  and  the  "  oaken  chamber  " 
was  rarely  tenanted,  save  on  occasions  of  extraordinary  festivity, 
or  when  the  yule  log  drew  an  unusually  large  accession  of  guests 
around  the  Christmas  hearth. 

On  this  eventful  night  it  was  prepared  for  the  unknown 
visitor,  who  sought  his  couch  heated  and  inflamed  from  his 
midnight  orgies,  and  in  the  morning  was  found  in  his  bed  a 
swollen  and  blackened  corpse.  No  marks  of  violence  appeared 
upon  the  body ;  but  the  livid  hue  of  the  lips,  and  certain  dark- 
colored  spots  visible  on  the  skin,  aroused  suspicions  which  those 
who  entertained  them  were  too  timid  to  express.  Apoplexy, 
induced  by  the  excesses  of  the  preceding  night,  Sir  Giles's  con- 
fidential leech  pronounced  to  be  the  cause  of  his  sudden  disso- 
lution. The  body  was  buried  in  peace ;  and  though  some  shook 
their  heads  as  they  witnessed  the  haste  with  which  the  funeral 
rites  were  hurried  on,  none  ventured  to  murmur.  Other  events 
arose  to  distract  the  attention  of  the  retainers ;  men's  minds 
became  occupied  by  the  stirring  politics  of  the  day ;  while  the 
near  approach  of  that  formidable  armada,  so  vainly  arrogating 
to  itself  a  title  which  the  very  elements  joined  with  human 


THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON.  21 

valor  to  disprove,  soon  interfered  to  weaken,  if  not  obliterate, 
all  remembrance  of  the  nameless  stranger  who  had  died  within 
the  walls  of  Tapton  Everard. 

Years  rolled  on  :  the  "  Bad  Sir  Giles  "  had  himself  long  since 
gone  to  his  account,  the  last,  as  it  was  believed,  of  his  immediate 
line ;  though  a  few  of  the  older  tenants  were  sometimes  heard 
to  speak  of  an  elder  brother,  who  had  disappeared  in  early  life, 
and  never  inherited  the  estate.  Rumors,  too,  of  his  having  left 
a  son  in  foreign  lauds  were  at  one  time  rife;  but  they  died 
away,  nothing  occurring  to  support  them :  the  property  passed 
unchallenged  to  a  collateral  branch  of  the  family,  and  the 
secret,  if  secret  there  were,  was  buried  in  Denton  churchyard, 
in  the  lonely  grave  of  the  mysterious  stranger.  One  circum- 
stance alone  occurred,  after  a  long  intervening  period,  to 
revive  the  memory  of  these  transactions.  Some  workmen 
employed  in  grubbing  an  old  plantation,  for  the  purpose  of 
raising  on  its  site  a  modern  shrubbery,  dug  up,  in  the  execution 
of  their  task,  the  mildewed  remnants  of  what  seemed  to  have 
been  once  a  garment.  On  more  minute  inspection,  enough  re- 
mained of  silken  slashes  and  a  coarse  embroidery  to  identify 
the  relics  as  having  once  formed  part  of  a  pair  of  trunk  hose  ; 
while  a  few  papers  which  fell  from  them,  altogether  illegible 
from  damp  and  age,  were  by  the  unlearned  rustics  conveyed  to 
the  then  owner  of  the  estate. 

Whether  the  squire  was  more  successful  in  deciphering  them 
was  never  known ;  he  certainly  never  alluded  to  their  contents ; 
and  little  would  have  been  thought  of  the  matter  but  for  the 
inconvenient  memory  of  an  old  woman,  who  declared  she  heard 
her  grandfather  say  that  when  the  "stranger  guest"  was  poi- 
soned, though  all  the  rest  of  his  clothes  were  there,  his  breeches, 
the  supposed  repository  of  the  supposed  documents,  could  never 
be  found.  The  master  of  Tapton  Everard  smiled  when  he 
heard  Dame  Jones's  hint  of  deeds  which  might  impeach  the 
validity  of  his  own  title  in  favor  of  some  unknown  descendant 
of  some  unknown  heir ;  and  the  story  was  rarely  alluded  to, 
save  by  one  or  two  miracle-mongers,  who  had  heard  that  others 
had  seen  the  ghost  of  old  Sir  Giles,  in  his  nightcap,  issue  from 
the  postern,  enter  the  adjoining  copse,  and  wring  his  shadowy 
hands  in  agony,  as  he  seemed  to  search  vainly  for  something 


22  THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON. 

hidden  among  the  evergreens.  The  stranger's  death-room  had, 
of  course,  been  occasionally  haunted  from  the  time  of  his 
decease ;  but  the  periods  of  visitation  had  latterly  become  very 
rare — even  Mrs.  Botherby,  the  housekeeper,  being  forced  to 
admit  that  during  her  long  sojourn  at  the  manor  she  had  never 
"met  with  anything  worse  than  herself;"  though,  as  the  old 
lady  afterwards  added  upon  more  mature  reflection,  "  I  must 
say  I  think  I  saw  the  devil  once.''^ 

Such  was  the  legend  attached  to  Tapton  Everard,  and  such 
the  story  which  the  lively  Caroline  Ingoldsby  detailed  to  her 
equally  mercurial  cousin,  Charles  Seaforth,  lieutenant  in  the 
Hon.  East  India  Company's  second  regiment  of  Bombay  Fen- 
cibles,  as  arm-in-arm  they  promenaded  a  gallery  decked  with 
some  dozen  grim-looking  ancestral  portraits,  and,  among  others, 
with  that  of  the  redoubted  Sir  Giles  himself.  The  gallant  com- 
mander had  that  very  morning  paid  his  first  visit  to  the  house 
of  his  maternal  uncle,  after  an  absence  of  several  years  passed 
with  his  regiment  on  the  arid  plains  of  Hindostan,  whence  he 
was  now  returned  on  a  three  years'  furlough.  He  had  gone  out 
a  boy — he  returned  a  man  ;  but  the  impression  made  upon  his 
youthful  fancy  by  his  favorite  cousin  remained  unimpaired,  and 
to  Tapton  he  directed  his  steps,  even  before  he  sought  the  home 
of  his  widowed  mother, — comforting  himself  in  this  breach  of 
filial  decorum  by  the  reflection  that,  as  the  manor  was  so  little 
out  of  his  way,  it  would  be  unkind  to  pass,  as  it  were,  the  door 
of  his  relatives,  without  just  looking  in  for  a  few  hours. 

But  he  found  his  uncle  as  hospitable,  and  his  cousin  more 
charming  than  ever ;  and  the  looks  of  one,  and  the  requests  of 
the  other,  soon  precluded  the  possibility  of  refusing  to  lengthen 
the  "few  hours"  into  a  few  days,  though  the  house  was  at  the 
moment  full  of  visitors. 

The  Peterses  were  there  from  Eamsgate ;  and  Mr.,  Mrs.,  and 
the  two  Miss  Simpkinsons,  from  Bath,  had  come  to  pass  a  month 
with  the  family ;  and  Tom  Ingoldsby  had  brought  down  his 
college  friend  the  Honorable  Augustus  Sucklethumbkin,  with 
his  groom  and  pointers,  to  take  a  fortnight's  shooting.  And 
then  there  was  Mrs.  Ogleton,  the  rich  young  widow,  with  her 
large  black  eyes,  who,  people  did  say,  was  setting  her  cap  at  the 
young  squire,  though  Mrs.  Botherby  did  not  believe  it ;  and, 


THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON.  23 

above  all,  there  was  Mademoiselle  Pauline,  her  femme  de  cham- 
bre,  who  "mon-Dieu'd"  everything  and  everybody,  and  cried 
"  Quel  horreur  /"  at  Mrs.  Botherby's  cap.  In  short,  to  use  the 
last-named  and  much-respected  lady's  own  expression,  the  house 
was  "  choke-full"  to  the  very  attics, — all  save  the  "  oaken  cham- 
ber," which,  as  the  lieutenant  expressed  a  most  magnanimous 
disregard  of  ghosts,  was  forthwith  appropriated  to  his  particular 
accommodation.  Mr.  Maguire  meanwhile  was  fain  to  share  the 
apartment  of  Oliver  Dobbs,  the  squire's  own  man  :  a  jocular  pro- 
posal of  joint  occupancy  having  been  first  indignantly  rejected 
by  "  Mademoiselle,"  though  preferred  with  the  "  laste  taste  in 
life"  of  Mr.  Barney's  most  insinuating  brogue. 


"  Come,  Charles,  the  urn  is  absolutely  getting  cold ;  your 
breakfast  will  be  quite  spoiled :  what  can  have  made  you 
so  idle  ?"  Such  was  the  morning  salutation  of  Miss  Ingoldsby 
to  the  militaire  as  he  entered  the  breakfast-room  half  an  hour 
after  the  latest  of  the  party. 

"  A  pretty  gentleman,  truly,  to  make  an  appointment  with !" 
chimed  in  Miss  Frances.  "  What  is  become  of  our  ramble  to 
the  rocks  before  breakfast  ?" 

"  Oh  !  the  young  men  never  think  of  keeping  a  promise  now," 
said  Mrs.  Peters,  a  little  ferret-faced  woman  with  underdone 
eyes. 

"  When  I  was  a  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Peters,  "  I  remember 
I  always  made  a  point  of " 

"  Pray,  how  long  ago  was  that  ?"  asked  Mr.  Simpkinson  from 
Bath. 

*'  Why,  sir,  when  I  married  Mrs.  Peters,  I  was — let  me  see — 
I  was " 

"Do  pray  hold  your  tongue.  P.,  and  eat  your  breakfast!" 
interrupted  his  better  half,  who  had  a  mortal  horror  of  chron- 
ological references ;  "  it's  very  rude  to  tease  people  with  your 
family  affairs." 

The  lieutenant  had  by  this  time  taken  his  seat  in  silence — a 
good-humored  nod,  and  a  glance,  half-smiling,  half-inquisitive, 
being  the  extent  of  his  salutation.    Smitten  as  he  was,  and  in  the 


24  TEE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON. 

immediate  presence  of  her  who  had  made  so  large  a  hole  in  his 
heart,  his  manner  was  evidently  distrait,  which  the  fair  Caroline 
in  her  secret  soul  attributed  to  his  being  solely  occupied  by  her 
agremens:  how  would  she  have  bridled  had  she  known  that 
they  only  shared  his  meditations  with  a  pair  of  breeches ! 

Charles  drank  his  coffee  and  spiked  some  half-dozen  eggs, 
darting  occasionally  a  penetrating  glance  at  the  ladies,  in  hope 
of  detecting  the  supposed  waggery  by  the  evidence  of  some  fur- 
tive smile  or  conscious  look.  But  in  vain ;  not  a  dimple  moved 
indicative  of  roguery,  nor  did  the  slightest  elevation  of  eyebrow 
rise  confirmative  of  his  suspicions.  Hints  and  insinuations 
passed  unheeded — more  particular  inquiries  were  out  of  the 
question : — the  subject  was  unapproachable. 

In  the  meantime,  "patent  cords"  were  just  the  thing  for  a 
morning's  ride ;  and,  breakfast  ended,  away  cantered  the  party 
over  the  downs,  till,  every  faculty  absorbed  by  the  beauties, 
animate  and  inanimate,  which  surrounded  him,  Lieutenant 
Seaforth  of  the  Bombay  Fencibles  bestowed  no  more  thought 
upon  his  breeches  than  if  he  had  been  born  on  the  top  of  Ben 
Lomond. 


Another  night  had  passed  away ;  the  sun  rose  brilliantly, 
forming  with  his  level  beams  a  splendid  rainbow  in  the  far-off 
west,  whither  the  heavy  cloud,  which  for  the  last  two  hours  had 
been  pouring  its  waters  on  the  earth,  was  now  flying  before  him. 

"  Ah !  then,  and  it's  little  good  it'll  be  the  claning  of  ye," 
apostrophized  Mr.  Barney  Maguire,  as  he  deposited  in  front  of 
his  master's  toilet  a  pair  of  "bran  new"  jockey  boots,  one  of 
Hoby's  primest  fits,  which  the  lieutenant  had  purchased  in  his 
way  through  town.  On  that  very  morning  had  they  come  for 
the  first  time  under  the  valet's  depurating  hand,  so  little  soiled, 
indeed,  from  the  turfy  ride  of  the  preceding  day,  that  a  less 
scrupulous  domestic  might,  perhaps,  have  considered  the  appli- 
cation of  "Warren's  Matchless,"  or  oxalic  acid,  altogether 
superfluous.  Not  so  Barney :  with  the  nicest  care  had  he  re- 
moved the  slightest  impurity  from  each  polished  surface,  and 
there  they  stood,  rejoicing  in  their  sable  radiance.  No  wonder 
a  pang  shot  across  Mr.  Maguire's  breast  as  he  thought  on  the 


THE  SPECTRE  OF  TAPPINGTON.  25 

work  now  cut  out  for  them,  so  different  from  the  light  labors 
of  the  day  before ;  no  wonder  he  murmured  with  a  sigh,  as  the 
scarce-dried  window-panes  disclosed  a  road  now  inch  deep  in 
mud,  "  Ah !  then,  it's  little  good  the  claning  of  ye !" — for  well 
had  he  learned  in  the  hall  below  that  eight  miles  of  a  stiff  clay 
soil  lay  between  the  manor  and  Bolsover  Abbey,  whose  pictur- 
esque ruins, 

"  Like  ancient  Eome,  majestic  in  decay," 

the  party  had  determined  to  explore.     The  master  had  already 
commenced  dressing,  and  the  man  was  fitting  straps  upon  a  light 
pair  of  crane-necked  spurs,  when  his  hand  was  arrested  by  the 
old  question — "  Barney,  where  are  the  breeches  ?" 
They  were  nowhere  to  be  found ! 


Mr.  Seaforth  descended  that  morning,  whip  in  hand,  and 
equipped  in  a  handsome  green  riding-frock,  but  no  "  breeches 
and  boots  to  match"  were  there:  loose  jean  trousers,  surmount- 
ing a  pair  of  diminutive  Wellingtons,  embraced,  somewhat  in- 
congruously, his  nether  man,  vice  the  "  patent  cords,"  returned, 
like  yesterday's  pantaloons,  absent  without  leave.  The  "  top- 
boots"  had  a  holiday. 

"A  fine  morning  after  the  rain,"  said  Mr.  Simpkinson  from 
Bath. 

"  Just  the  thing  for  the  'ops,"  said  Mr.  Peters.  "  I  remember 
when  I  was  a  boy " 

"  Do  hold  your  tongue.  P.,"  said  Mrs.  Peters — advice  which 
that  exemplary  matron  was  in  the  constant  habit  of  administer- 
ing to  "  her  P.,"  as  she  called  him,  whenever  he  prepared  to 
vent  his  reminiscences.  Her  precise  reason  for  this  it  would  be 
difficult  to  determine,  unless,  indeed,  the  story  be  true  which  a 
little  bird  had  whispered  into  Mrs.  Botherby's  ear — Mr.  Peters, 
though  now  a  wealthy  man,  had  received  a  liberal  education  at 
a  charity  school,  and  was  apt  to  recur  to  the  days  of  his  muffin- 
cap  and  leathers.  As  usual,  he  took  his  wife's  hint  in  good 
part,  and  "  paused  in  his  reply." 

"  A  glorious  day  for  the  ruins !"  said  young  lugoldsby.   "  But, 


26  TEE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON. 

Charles,  what  the  deuce  are  you  about  ?  you  don't  mean  to  ride 
through  our  lanes  in  such  toggery  as  that  ?" 

"  Lassy  me !"  said  Miss  Julia  Simpkiuson,  "won't  you  be  very 
wet?" 

"  You  had  better  take  Tom's  cab,"  quoth  the  squire. 

But  this  proposition  was  at  once  overruled ;  Mrs.  Ogleton  had 
already  nailed  the  cab,  a  vehicle  of  all  others  the  best  adapted 
for  a  snug  flirtation. 

"  Or  drive  Miss  Julia  in  the  phaeton  ?"  No ;  that  was  the 
post  of  Mr.  Peters,  who,  indifferent  as  an  equestrian,  had  ac- 
quired some  fame  as  a  whip  while  travelling  through  the  mid- 
land counties  for  the  firm  of  Bagshaw,  Snivelby,  and  Ghrimes. 

"Thank  you,  I  shall  ride  with  my  cousins,"  said  Charles, 
with  as  much  nonchalance  as  he  could  assume — and  he  did  so ; 
Mr.  Ingoldsby,  Mrs.  Peters,  Mr.  Simpkiuson  from  Bath,  and  his 
eldest  daughter  with  her  album,  following  in  the  family  coach. 
The  gentleman-commoner  "voted  the  affair  d — d  slow,"  and 
declined  the  party  altogether  in  favor  of  the  gamekeeper  and  a 
cigar.  "  There  was  *  no  fun '  in  looking  at  old  houses !"  Mrs. 
Simpkiuson  preferred  a  short  s^our  in  the  still-room  with  Mrs. 
Botherby,  Avho  had  promised  to  initiate  her  in  that  grand  ar- 
canum, the  transmutation  of  gooseberry  jam  into  Guava  jelly. 


"  Did  you  ever  see  an  old  abbey  before,  Mr.  Peters  ?" 

"  Yes,  miss,  a  French  one ;  we  have  got  one  at  Eamsgate ;  he 
teaches  the  Miss  Joneses  to  parley-voo,  and  is  turned  of  sixty." 

Miss  Simpkiuson  closed  her  album  Avith  an  air  of  ineffable 
disdain. 

Mr.  Simpkiuson  from  Bath  was  a  professed  antiquary,  and 
one  of  the  first  water;  he  was  master  of  Gwillim's  Heraldry 
and  Mills's  History  of  the  Crusades ;  knew  every  plate  in  the 
Monasticon ;  had  written  an  essay  on  the  origin  and  dignity  of 
the  ofiice  of  overseer,  and  settled  the  date  on  a  Queen  Anne's 
farthing.  An  influential  member  of  the  Antiquarian  Society, 
to  whose  "  Beauties  of  Baguigge  Wells "  he  had  been  a  liberal 
subscriber,  procured  him  a  seat  at  the  board  of  that  learned 
body,  since  which  happy  epoch  Sylvanus  Urban  had  not  a  more 


THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINOTON.  27 

indefatigable  correspondent.  His  inaugural  essay  on  the  Presi- 
dent's cocked  hat  was  considered  a  miracle  of  erudition ;  and  his 
account  of  the  earliest  application  of  gilding  to  gingerbread,  a 
masterpiece  of  antiquarian  research.  His  eldest  daughter  was 
of  a  kindred  spirit :  if  her  father's  mantle  had  not  fallen  upon 
her,  it  was  only  because  he  had  not  thrown  it  off  himself;  she 
had  caught  hold  of  its  tail,  however,  while  it  yet  hung  upon  his 
honored  shoulders.  To  souls  so  congenial,  what  a  sight  was  the 
magnificent  ruin  of  Bolsover !  its  broken  arches,  its  mouldering 
pinnacles,  and  the  airy  tracery  of  its  half-demolished  windows. 
The  party  were  in  raptures ;  Mr.  Simpkinson  began  to  meditate 
an  essay,  and  his  daughter  an  ode :  even  Seaforth,  as  he  gazed 
on  these  lonely  relics  of  the  olden  time,  was  betrayed  into  a 
momentary  forgetfulness  of  his  love  and  losses :  the  widow's 
eye-glass  turned  from  her  cidshed's  whiskers  to  the  mantling  ivy; 
Mrs.  Peters  wiped  her  spectacles ;  and  "  her  P."  supposed  the 
central  tower  "  had  once  been  the  county  jail."  The  squire  was 
a  philosopher,  and  had  been  there  often  before,  so  he  ordered 
out  the  cold  tongue  and  chickens. 

"  Bolsover  Priory,"  said  Mr.  Simpkinson,  with  the  air  of  a 
connoisseur, — "  Bolsover  Priory  was  founded  in  the  reign  of 
Henry  the  Sixth,  about  the  beginning  of  the  eleventh  century. 
Hugh  de  Bolsover  had  accompanied  that  monarch  to  the  Holy 
Land  in  the  expedition  undertaken  by  way  of  penance  for  the 
murder  of  his  young  nephews  in  the  Tower.  Upon  the  dissolu- 
tion of  the  monasteries,  the  veteran  was  enfeofied  in  the  lands 
and  manor,  to  which  he  gave  his  own  name  of  Bowlsover,  or 
Bee-owls-over  (by  corruption  Bolsover), — a  Bee  in  chief,  over 
three  Owls,  all  proper,  being  the  armorial  ensigns  borne  by  this 
distinguished  crusader  at  the  siege  of  Acre." 

"Ah!  that  was  Sir  Sidney  Smith,"  said  Mr.  Peters;  "I've 
heard  tell  of  him,  and  all  about  Mrs.  Partington,  and " 

"  P.,  "be  quiet,  and  don't  expose  yourself!"  sharply  interrupted 
his  lady.  P.  was  silenced,  and  betook  himself  to  the  bottled  stout. 

"  These  lands,"  continued  the  antiquary,  "  were  held  in  grand 
sergeantry  by  the  presentation  of  three  white  owls  and  a  pot  of 
honey " 

"  Lassy  me !  how  nice !"  said  Miss  Julia.  Mr.  Peters  licked 
his  lips. 


28  THE  SPECTRE  OF  TAPPINGTON. 

"  Pray  give  me  leave,  my  dear — owls  and  honey,  whenever 
the  king  should  come  a  rat-catching  into  this  part  of  the 
country." 

"  Rat-catching  I"  ejaculated  the  squire,  pausing  abruptly  in 
the  mastication  of  a  drumstick. 

"To  be  sure,  my  dear  sir:  don't  you  remember  the  rats  once 
came  under  the  forest  laws — a  minor  species  of  venison  ?  '  Rats, 
mice,  and  such  small  deer,'  eh  ? — Shakspeare,  you  know.  Our 
ancestors  ate  rats  ('  The  nasty  fellows !'  shuddered  Miss  Julia, 
in  a  parenthesis) ;  and  owls,  you  know,  are  capital  mousers " 

"  I've  seen  a  howl,"  said  Mr.  Peters  ;  "  there's  one  in  the  So- 
hological  Gardens, — a  little  hook-nosed  chap  in  a  wig, — only 
its  feathers  and " 

Poor  P.  was  destined  never  to  finish  a  speech. 

"Do  be  quiet!"  cried  the  authoritative  voice;  and  the  would- 
be  naturalist  shrank  into  his  shell,  like  a  snail  in  the  "  Soho- 
logical  Gardens." 

"  You  should  read  Blount's  *  Jocular  Tenures,'  Mr.  Ingolds- 
by,"  pursued  Simpkinson.  "xV  learned  man  was  Blount !  Why, 
sir.  His  Royal  Highness  the  Duke  of  York  once  paid  a  silver 
horse-shoe  to  Lord  Ferrers " 

"  I've  heard  of  him,"  broke  in  the  incorrigible  Peters ;  "  he 
was  hanged  at  the  Old  Bailey  in  a  silk  rope  for  shooting  Dr. 
Johnson." 

The  antiquary  vouchsafed  no  notice  of  the  interruption ;  but, 
taking  a  pinch  of  snuff,  continued  his  harangue. 

"  A  silver  horse-shoe,  sir,  which  is  due  from  every  scion  of 
royalty  who  rides  across  one  of  his  manors ;  and,  if  you  look 
into  the  penny  county  histories,  now  publishing  by  an  eminent 
friend  of  mine,  you  will  find  that  Laughale  in  Co.  Norf.  was 
held  by  one  Baldwin  jyer  saltum,  sufflatmn,  et  pettum ;  that  is,  he 
was  to  come  every  Christmas  into  Westminster  Hall,  there  to 
take  a  leap,  cry  hem !  and " 

"  ]Mr.  Simpkinson,  a  glass  of  sherry  ?"  cried  Tom  Ingoldsby, 
hastily. 

"  Not  any,  thank  you,  sir.    This  Baldwin,  surnamed  Le " 

"  Mrs.  Ogleton  challenges  you,  sir ;  she  insists  upon  it,"  said 
Tom,  still  more  rapidly,  at  the  same  time  filling  a  glass  and 
forcing  it  on  the  sgavant,  who,  thus  arrested  in  the  very  crisis 


TEE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON.  29 

of  his  narrative,  received  and  swallowed  the  potation  as  if  it 
had  been  physic. 

"What  on  earth  has  Miss  Simpkinson  discovered  there?" 
continued  Tom ;  "  something  of  interest.  See  how  fast  she  is 
writing." 

The  diversion  was  effectual ;  every  one  looked  towards  Miss 
Simpkinson,  who,  far  too  ethereal  for  "  creature  comforts,"  was 
seated  apart  on  the  dilapidated  remains  of  an  altar-tomb,  com- 
mitting eagerly  to  paper  something  that  had  strongly  impressed 
her ;  the  air — the  eye  in  a  "  fine  frenzy  rolling," — all  betokened 
that  the  divine  afflatus  was  come.  Her  father  rose  and  stole 
silently  towards  her. 

"  What  an  old  boar !"  muttered  young  Ingoldsby ;  alluding 
perhaps  to  a  slice  of  brawn  which  he  had  just  begun  to  operate 
upon,  but  which,  from  the  celerity  with  which  it  disappea.red, 
did  not  seem  so  very  difficult  of  mastication. 

But  what  had  become  of  Seaforth  and  his  fair  Caroline  all 
this  while?  Why,  it  so  happened  that  they  had  been  simul- 
taneously stricken  with  the  picturesque  aj^pearance  of  one  of 
those  high  and  pointed  arches  which  that  eminent  antiquary, 
Mr.  Horseley  Curties,  has  described  in  his  "Ancient  Records" 
as  "a  Gothic  window  of  the  Saxon  order;"  and  then  the  ivy 
clustered  so  thickly  and  so  beautifully  on  the  other  side  that 
they  went  round  to  look  at  that ;  and  then  their  proximity  de- 
prived it  of  half  its  effect,  and  so  they  walked  across  to  a  little 
knoll,  a  hundred  yards  off,  and  in  crossing  a  small  ravine  they 
came  to  what  in  Ireland  they  call  "  a  bad  step,"  and  Charles 
had  to  carry  his  cousin  over  it ;  and  then  when  they  had  to 
come  back,  she  would  not  give  him  the  trouble  again  for  the 
world,  so  they  followed  a  better  but  more  circuitous  route,  and 
there  were  hedges  and  ditches  in  the  way,  and  stiles  to  get  over 
and  gates  to  get  through,  so  that  an  hour  or  more  had  elapsed 
before  they  were  able  to  rejoin  the  party. 

"Lassy  me!"  said  Miss  Julia  Simpkinson,  "how  long  you 
have  been  gone !" 

And  so  they  had.  The  remark  was  a  very  just  as  well  as  a 
very  natural  one.  They  were  gone  a  long  while,  and  a  nice 
cosy  chat  they  had ;  and  what  do  you  think  it  was  all  about, 
my  dear  miss? 


80  THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON. 

"  Oh,  lassy  me !  love,  no  doubt,  and  the  moon,  and  eyes,  and 
nightingales,  and " 

Stay,  stay,  my  sweet  young  lady;  do  not  let  the  fervor  of 
your  feelings  run  away  with  you !  I  do  not  pretend  to  say,  in- 
deed, that  one  or  more  of  these  pretty  subjects  might  not  have 
been  introduced ;  but  the  most  important  and  leading  topic  of 
the  conference  was — Lieutenant  Seaforth's  breeches. 

"  Caroline,"  said  Charles,  "  I  have  had  some  very  odd  dreams 
since  I  have  been  at  Tappington." 

"Dreams,  have  you?"  smiled  the  young  lady,  arching  her 
taper  neck  like  a  swan  in  pluming.     "  Dreams,  have  you  ?" 

"Ay,  dreams, — or  dream,  perhaps,  I  should  say ;  for,  though 
repeated,  it  was  still  the  same.  And  what  do  you  imagine  was 
its  subject?" 

"It  is  impossible  for  me  to  divine,"  said  the  tongue; — "I 
have  not  the  least  difficulty  in  guessing,"  said  the  eye,  as  plainly 
as  ever  eye  spoke. 

"  I  dreamt — of  your  great-grandfather !" 

There  was  a  change  in  the  glance — "My  great-grand- 
father?" 

"  Yes,  the  old  Sir  Giles,  or  Sir  John,  you  told  me  about  the 
other  day :  he  walked  into  my  bedroom  in  his  short  cloak  of 
murrey-colored  velvet,  his  long  rapier,  and  his  Raleigh-looking 
hat  and  feather,  just  as  the  picture  rej^resents  him ;  but  with 
one  exception." 

"And  what  was  that?" 

"  Why,  his  lower  extremities,  which  were  visible,  were  those 
of  a  skeleton." 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  after  taking  a  turn  or  two  about  the  room,  and  look- 
ing round  him  with  a  wistful  air,  he  came  to  the  bed's  foot, 
stared  at  me  in  a  manner  impossible  to  describe, — and  then  he — 
he  laid  hold  of  my  pantaloons  ;  whipped  his  loug  bony  legs  into 
them  in  a  twinkling ;  and  strutting  up  to  the  glass,  seemed  to 
view  himself  in  it  with  great  complacency.  I  tried  to  speak, 
but  in  vain.  The  effort,  however,  seemed  to  excite  his  atten- 
tion ;  for,  wheeling  about,  he  showed  me  the  grimmest-looking 
death's  head  you  can  well  imagine,  and  with  an  indescribable 
grin  strutted  out  of  the  room." 


THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINOTON.  31 

"  Absurd !  Charles.     How  can  you  talk  such  nonsense  ?" 
"  But,  Caroline, — the  breeches  are  really  gone." 


On  the  following  morning,  contrary  to  his  usual  custom,  Sea- 
forth  was  the  first  person  in  the  breakfast  parlor.  As  no  one 
else  was  present,  he  did  precisely  what  nine  young  men  out  of 
ten  so  situated  would  have  done ;  he  walked  up  to  the  mantle- 
piece,  established  himself  upon  the  rug,  and,  subducting  his 
coat-tails  one  under  each  arm,  turned  towards  the  fire  that  por- 
tion of  the  human  frame  which  it  is  considered  equally  indeco- 
rous to  present  to  a  friend  or  an  enemy.  A  serious,  not  to  say 
anxious,  expression  was  visible  upon  his  good-humored  counte- 
nance, and  his  mouth  was  fast  buttoning  itself  up  for  an  incip- 
ient whistle,  when  little  Floy,  a  tiny  spaniel  of  the  Blenheim 
breed, — the  pet  object  of  Miss  Julia  Simpkinson's  affections, — 
bounced  out  from  beneath  a  sofa,  and  began  to  bark  at — his 
pantaloons. 

They  were  cleverly  "  built,"  of  a  light-gray  mixture,  a  broad 
stripe  of  the  most  vivid  scarlet  travei'sing  each  seam  in  a  per- 
pendicular direction  from  hip  to  ankle — in  short,  the  regimental 
costume  of  the  Royal  Bombay  Fencibles.  The  animal,  educated 
in  the  country,  had  never  seen  such  a  pair  of  breeches  in  her 
life —  Omne  ignotum  pro  magnifico  !  The  scarlet  streak,  inflamed 
as  it  was  by  the  reflection  of  the  fire,  seemed  to  act  on  Flora's 
nerves  as  the  same  color  does  on  those  of  bulls  and  turkeys ; 
she  advanced  at  the  pas  de  charge,  and  her  vociferation,  like  her 
amazement,  was  unbounded.  A  sound  kick  from  the  disgusted 
ofiicer  changed  its  character,  and  induced  a  retreat  at  the  very 
moment  when  the  mistress  of  the  pugnacious  quadruped  entered 
to  the  rescue. 

"  Lassy  me !  Flo,  what  is  the  matter  ?"  cried  the  sympathiz- 
ing lady,  with  a  scrutinizing  glance  levelled  at  the  gentleman. 

It  might  as  well  have  lighted  on  a  feather  bed.  His  air  of 
imperturbable  unconsciousness  defied  examination  ;  and  as  he 
would  not,  and  Flora  could  not,  expound,  that  injured  individual 
•was  compelled  to  pocket  up  her  wrongs.  Others  of  the  house- 
hold soon  dropped  in,  and  clustered  round  the  board  dedicated 
to  the  most  sociable  of  meals ;  the  urn  was  paraded  "  hissing 


32  THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON. 

hot,"  and  the  cups  which  "  cheer,  but  not  inebriate,"  steamed 
redolent  of  hyson  and  pekoe;  muffins  and  marmalade,  news- 
papers and  Finnon  baddies,  left  little  room  for  observation  on 
the  character  of  Charles's  warlike  "  turn-out."  At  length  a 
look  from  Caroline,  followed  by  a  smile  that  nearly  ripened  to 
a  titter,  caused  him  to  turn  abruptly  and  address  his  neighbor. 
It  was  Miss  Simpkinson,  who,  deeply  engaged  in  sipping  her  tea 
and  turning  over  her  album,  seemed,  like  a  female  Chronono- 
tonthologos,  "immersed  in  cogibundity  of  cogitation."  An 
interrogatory  on  the  subject  of  her  studies  drew  from  her  the 
confession  that  she  was  at  that  moment  employed  in  putting  the 
finishing  touches  to  a  poem  inspired  by  the  romantic  shades  of 
Bolsover.  The  entreaties  of  the  company  were  of  course  urgent. 
Mr.  Peters,  "  who  liked  verses,"  was  especially  persevering,  and 
Sappho  at  length  compliant.  After  a  preparatory  hem !  and  a 
glance  at  the  mirror  to  ascertain  that  her  look  was  sufficiently 
sentimental,  the  poetess  began : — 

"  There  is  a  calm,  a  holy  feeling, 

Vulgar  minds  can  never  know, 
O'er  the  bosom  softly  stealing, — 

Chasten'd  grief,  delicious  woe  I 
Oh  !  how  sweet  at  eve  regaining 

Yon  lone  tower's  sequester'd  shade — 
Sadly  mute  and  uncomplaining -" 

— ^Yow ! — yeough ! — yeough ! — yow ! — yow !  yelled  a  hapless  suf- 
ferer from  beneath  the  table.  It  w'as  an  unlucky  hour  for 
quadrupeds ;  and  if  "  every  dog  will  have  his  day,"  he  could 
not  have  selected  a  more  unpropitious  one  than  this.  Mrs. 
Ogleton,  too,  had  a  pet, — a  favorite  pug, — whose  squab  figure, 
black  muzzle,  and  tortuosity  of  tail,  that  curled  like  a  head 
of  celery  in  a  salad-bowl,  bespoke  his  Dutch  extraction.  Yow ! 
yow !  yow !  continued  the  brute, — a  chorus  in  which  Flo  in- 
stantly joined.  Sooth  to  say,  pug  had  more  reason  to  express 
his  dissatisfaction  than  was  given  him  by  the  muse  of  Simpkin- 
son ;  the  other  only  barked  for  company.  Scarcely  had  the 
poetess  got  through  her  first  stanza,  when  Tom  Ingoldsby,  in 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  moment,  became  so  lost  in  the  material 
world,  that,  in  his  abstraction,  he  unwarily  laid  his  hand  on  the 
cock  of  the  urn.     Quivering  with  emotion,  he  gave  it  such  an 


THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINOTON.  33 

unlucky  twist  that  the  full  stream  of  its  scalding  contents  de- 
scended on  the  gingerbread  hide  of  the  unlucky  Cupid.  The 
confusion  was  complete ;  the  whole  economy  of  the  table  disar- 
ranged— the  company  broke  up  in  most  admired  disorder — and 
"vulgar  minds  will  never  know"  anything  more  of  Miss  Simp- 
kinson's  ode  till  they  peruse  it  in  some  forthcoming  Annual. 

Seaforth  profited  by  the  confusion  to  take  the  delinquent  who 
had  caused  this  "  stramash  "  by  the  arm,  and  to  lead  him  to  the 
lawn,  where  he  had  a  word  or  two  for  his  private  ear.  The  con- 
ference between  the  young  gentlemen  was  neither  brief  in  its 
duration  nor  unimportant  in  its  result.  The  subject  was  what 
the  lawyers  call  tripartite,  embracing  the  information  that 
Charles  Seaforth  was  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  Tom 
lugoldsby's  sister;  secondly,  that  the  lady  had  referred  him 
to  "  papa "  for  his  sanction ;  thirdly  and  lastly,  his  nightly 
visitations,  and  consequent  bereavement.  At  the  two  first 
items  Tom  smiled  auspiciously — at  the  last  he  burst  out  into 
an  absolute  "  guffaw." 

"Steal  your  breeches!  Miss  Bailey  over  again,  by  Jove," 
shouted  Ingoldsby.  "  But  a  gentleman,  you  say, — and  Sir  Giles 
too.  I  am  not  sure,  Charles,  whether  I  ought  not  to  call  you 
out  for  aspersing  the  honor  of  the  family." 

"  Laugh  as  you  will,  Tom, — be  as  incredulous  as  you  please. 
One  fact  is  incontestable — the  breeches  are  gone  !  Look  here — 
I  am  reduced  to  my  regimentals ;  and  if  these  go,  to-mon'ow  I 
must  borrow  of  you !" 

Rochefoucauld  says  there  is  something  in  the  misfortunes  of 
our  very  best  friends  that  does  not  displease  us ;  assuredly  we 
can,  most  of  us,  laugh  at  their  petty  inconveniences,  till  called 
upon  to  supply  them.  Tom  composed  his  features  on  the  in- 
stant, and  replied  with  more  gravity,  as  well  as  with  an  exple- 
tive which,  if  my  Lord  Mayor  had  been  within  hearing,  might 
have  cost  him  five  shillings. 

"  There  is  something  very  queer  in  this,  after  all.  The  clothes, 
you  say,  have  positively  disappeared.  Somebody  is  playing  you 
a  trick ;  and,  ten  to  one,  your  servant  has  a  hand  in  it.  By  the 
way,  I  heard  something  yesterday  of  his  kicking  up  a  bobbery 
in  the  kitchen,  and  seeing  a  ghost,  or  something  of  that  kind, 
himself  Depend  upon  it,  Barney  is  in  the  plot." 
3 


34  THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON. 

It  now  struck  the  lieutenant  at  once  that  the  usually  buoyant 
spirits  of  his  attendant  had  of  late  been  materially  sobered  down, 
his  loquacity  obviously  circumscribed,  and  that  he,  the  said  lieu- 
tenant, had  actually  rung  his  bell  three  several  times  that  very 
morning  before  he  could  procure  his  attendance.  Mr.  Maguire 
was  forthwith  summoned,  and  underwent  a  close  examination. 
The  "bobbery"  was  easily  explained.  Mr.  Oliver  Dobbs  had 
hinted  his  disapprobation  of  a  flirtation  carrying  on  between  the 
gentleman  from  Munster  and  the  lady  from  the  Rue  St.  Honors. 
Mademoiselle  had  boxed  Mr.  Maguire's  ears,  and  Mr.  Maguire 
had  pulled  Mademoiselle  upon  his  knee,  and  the  lady  had  not 
cried  Mon  Dieu  !  And  :Mr.  Oliver  Dobbs  said  it  was  very  wrong ; 
and  Mrs.  Botherby  said  it  was  "  scandalous,"  and  what  ought 
not  to  be  done  in  any  moral  kitchen ;  and  Mr.  Maguire  had 
got  hold  of  the  Honorable  Augustus  Sucklethumbkin's  powder- 
flask,  and  had  put  large  pinches  of  the  best  Double  Dartford  into 
Mr.  Dobbs's  tobacco-box ;  and  Mr.  Dobbs's  pipe  had  exploded, 
and  set  fire  to  :Mrs.  Botherby's  Sunday  cap ;  and  Mr.  Maguire 
had  put  it  out  with  the  slop-basin,  "barring  the  wig;"  and  then 
they  were  all  so  "  cantankerous  "  that  Barney  had  gone  to  take 
a  walk  in  the  garden ;  and  then— then  Mr.  Barney  had  seen  a 

ghost. 

"  A  what  ?  you  blockhead !"  asked  Tom  Ingoldsby. 

"  Sure  then,  and  it's  meself  will  tell  your  honor  the  rights  of 
it,"  said  the  ghost-seer.  "Meself  and  Miss  Pauline,  sir,— or 
Miss  Pauline  and  meself,  for  the  ladies  comes  first  anyhow, — 
we  got  tired  of  the  hobstroppylous  scrimmaging  among  the  ould 
servants,  that  didn't  know  a  joke  when  they  seen  one :  and  we 
went  out  to  look  at  the  comet,— that's  the  rorybory-alehouse, 
they  calls  him  in  this  country, — and  we  walked  upon  the  lawn, 
— and  divil  of  any  alehouse  there  was  there  at  all ;  and  Miss 
Pauline  said  it  was  bekase  of  the  shrubbery  maybe,  and  why 
wouldn't  we  see  it  better  beyonst  the  trees  ?  and  so  we  went  to 
the  trees,  but  sorrow  a  comet  did  meself  see  there,  barring  a  big 
ghost  instead  of  it." 

"  A  ghost  ?     And  what  sort  of  a  ghost,  Barney  ?" 

"  Och,  then,  divil  a  lie  I'll  tell  your  honor.  A  tall  ould  gen- 
tleman he  was,  all  in  white,  with  a  shovel  on  the  shoulder  of 
him,  and  a  big  torch  in  his  fist,— though  what  he  wanted  with 


THE  SPECTRE  OF  TAPPINGTON.  35 

that  it's  meself  can't  tell,  for  his  eyes  were  like  gig-lamps,  let 
alone  the  moon  and  the  comet,  which  wasn't  there  at  all : — and 
'  Barney,'  says  he  to  me, — 'cause  why  he  knew  me, — '  Barney,' 
says  he, '  what  is  it  you're  doing  with  the  colleen  there,  Barney  V 
Divil  a  word  did  I  say.  Miss  Pauline  screeched,  and  cried 
murther  in  French,  and  ran  off  with  herself;  and  of  course 
meself  was  in  a  mighty  hurry  after  the  lady,  and  had  no  time 
to  stop  palavering  with  him  any  way :  so  I  dispersed  at  once,  and 
the  ghost  vanished  in  a  flame  of  fire !" 

Mr.  Maguire's  account  was  received  with  avowed  incredulity 
by  both  gentlemen ;  but  Barney  stuck  to  his  text  with  unflinch- 
ing pertinacity.  A  reference  to  Mademoiselle  was  suggested, 
but  abandoned,  as  neither  party  had  a  taste  for  delicate  inves- 
tigations. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  Seaforth,"  said  lugoldsby,  after  Barney 
had  received  his  dismissal,  "  that  there  is  a  trick  here  is  evident ; 
and  Barney's  vision  may  possibly  be  a  part  of  it.  Whether  he 
is  most  knave  or  fool  you  best  know.  At  all  events,  I  will  sit 
up  with  you  to-night,  and  see  if  I  can  convert  my  ancestor  into 
a  visiting  acquaintance.     Meanwhile  your  finger  on  your  lip !" 


"  'Twas  now  tlie  very  witching  time  of  night, 
/       When  churchyards  yawn,  and  graves  give  up  their  dead." 

Gladly  would  I  grace  my  tale  with  decent  horror,  and  there- 
fore I  do  beseech  the  "gentle  reader"  to  believe  that  if  all  the 
suecedanea  to  this  mysterious  narrative  are  not  in  strict  keeping, 
he  will  ascribe  it  only  to  the  disgraceful  innovations  of  modern 
degeneracy  upon  the  sober  and  dignified  habits  of  our  ancestors. 
I  can  introduce  him,  it  is  true,  into  an  old  and  high-roof  cham- 
ber, its  walls  covered  on  three  sides  with  black  oak  wainscoting, 
adorned  with  carvings  of  fruit  and  flowers  long  anterior  to  those  of 
Grinling  Gibbons ;  the  fourth  side  is  clothed  with  a  curious  rem- 
nant of  dingy  tapestry,  once  elucidatory  of  some  Scriptural  his- 
tory, but  of  ivhich  not  even  Mrs.  Botherby  could  determine.  Mr. 
Simpkinson,  who  had  examined  it  carefully,  inclined  to  believe 
the  principal  figure  to  be  either  Bathsheba,  or  Daniel  in  the 


36  THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINQTON. 

lions'  den ;  while  Tom  Ingoldsby  decided  in  favor  of  the  King  of 
Bashan.  All,  however,  was  conjecture,  tradition  being  silent  on 
the  subject.  A  lofty  arched  portal  led  into,  and  a  little  arched 
portal  led  out  of,  this  apartment ;  they  were  opposite  each  other, 
and  each  possessed  the  security  of  massy  bolts  on  its  interior. 
The  bedstead,  too,  was  not  one  of  yesterday,  but  manifestly 
coeval  with  days  ere  Seddons  was,  and  when  a  good  four-post 
"article"  was  deemed  worthy  of  being  a  royal  bequest.  The 
bed  itself,  with  all  the  appurtenances  of  palliasse,  mattresses, 
etc.,  was  of  far  later  date,  and  looked  most  incongruously  com- 
fortable; the  casements,  too,  with  their  little  diamond-shaped 
panes  and  iron  binding,  had  given  way  to  the  modern  hetero- 
doxy of  the  sash-window.  Nor  was  this  all  that  conspired  to 
ruin  the  costume,  and  render  the  room  a  meet  haunt  for  such 
"mixed  spirits"  only  as  could  condescend  to  don  at  the  same 
time  an  Elizabethan  doublet  and  Bond-Street  inexpressibles. 

With  their  green  morocco  slippers  on  a  modern  fender,  in 
front  of  a  disgracefully  modern  grate,  sat  two  young  gentlemen, 
clad  in  "  shawl-pattern  "  dressing-gowns  and  black  silk  stocks, 
much  at  variance  with  the  high  cane-backed  chairs  which  sup- 
ported them.  A  bunch  of  abomination,  called  a  cigar,  reeked 
in  the  left-hand  corner  of  the  mouth  of  one,  and  in  the  right- 
hand  corner  of  the  mouth  of  the  other — an  arrangement  hap- 
pily adapted  for  the  escape  of  the  noxious  fumes  up  the  chim- 
ney without  that  unmerciful  "funking"  each  other  which  a 
less  scientific  disposition  of  the  weed  would  have  induced.  A 
small  Pembroke  table  filled  up  the  intervening  space  between 
them,  sustaining,  at  each  extremity,  an  elbow  and  a  glass  of 
toddy — thus  in  "lonely  pensive  contemplation"  were  the  two 
worthies  occupied,  when  the  "iron  tongue  of  midnight  had 
tolled  twelve." 

"  Ghost-time's  come !"  said  Ingoldsby,  taking  from  his  waist- 
coat pocket  a  watch  like  a  gold  half-crown,  and  consulting  it 
as  though  he  suspected  the  turret-clock  over  the  stables  of  men- 
dacity. 

"  Hush !"  said  Charles  ;  "  did  I  not  hear  a  footstep  ?" 

There  was  a  pause : — there  was  a  footstep — it  sounded  dis- 
tinctly— it  reached  the  door — it  hesitated,  stopped,  and — passed 
on. 


THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON.  37 

Tom  darted  across  the  room,  threw  open  the  door,  and  became 
aware  of  Mrs.  Botherby  toddling  to  her  chamber,  at  the  other 
end  of  the  gallery,  after  dosing  one  of  the  housemaids  with  an 
approved  julep  from  the  Countess  of  Kent's  Choice  Manual. 

"  Good-night,  sir !"  said  Mrs.  Botherby. 

"  Go  to  the  d — 1 !"  said  the  disappointed  ghost-hunter. 

An  hour — two — rolled  on,  and  still  no  spectral  visitation, 
nor  did  aught  intervene  to  make  night  hideous  ;  and  when  the 
turret-clock  sounded  at  length  the  hour  of  three,  Ingoldsby, 
■whose  patience  and  grog  were  alike  exhausted,  sprang  from  his 
chair,  saying — 

"  This  is  all  infernal  nonsense,  my  good  fellow.  Deuce  of 
any  ghost  shall  we  see  to-night;  it's  long  past  the  canonical 
hour.  I'm  off  to  bed  ;  and  as  to  your  breeches,  I'll  insure  them 
for  the  next  twenty -four  hours  at  least,  at  the  price  of  the  buck- 
ram." 

"  Certainly. — Oh !  thank'ee — to  be  sure !"  stammered  Charles, 
rousing  himself  from  a  reverie  which  had  degenerated  into  an 
absolute  snooze. 

"  Good-night,  my  boy !  Bolt  the  door  behind  me ;  and  defy 
the  Pope,  the  Devil,  and  the  Pretender !" 

Seaforth  followed  his  friend's  advice,  and  the  next  morning 
came  down  to  breakfast  dressed  in  the  habiliments  of  the  pre- 
ceding day.  The  charm  was  broken,  the  demon  defeated ;  the 
light  grays  with  the  red  stripe  down  the  seams  were  yet  in  rerum 
naturd,  and  adorned  the  person  of  their  lawful  proprietor. 

Tom  felicitated  himself  and  his  partner  of  the  watch  on  the 
result  of  their  vigilance;  but  there  is  a  rustic  adage  which 
warns  us  against  self-gratulation  before  we  are  quite  "  out  of 
the  wood." — Seaforth  was  yet  Avithin  its  verge. 


A  rap  at  Tom  Ingoldsby's  door  the  following  morning  startled 
him  as  he  was  shaving — he  cut  his  chin. 

"  Come  in,  and  be  d — d  to  you !"  said  the  martyr,  pressing 
his  thumb  on  the  scarified  epidermis.  The  door  opened,  and 
exhibited  Mr.  Barney  Maguire. 


38  THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON. 

"  Well,  Barney,  what  is  it  ?"  quoth  the  sufferer,  adopting  the 
vernacular  of  his  visitant. 

"  The  master,  sir " 

"  Well,  what  does  he  want  ?" 

"  The  loanst  of  a  breeches,  plase  your  honor." 

"  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me By  Heaven,  this  is  too 

good  !"  shouted  Tom,  bursting  into  a  fit  of  uncontrollable  laugh- 
ter. "  Why,  Barney,  you  don't  mean  to  say  the  ghost  has  got 
them  again?" 

Mr.  Maguire  did  not  respond  to  the  young  squire's  risibility ; 
the  east  of  his  countenance  was  decidedly  serious. 

"  Faith,  then,  it's  gone  they  are,  sure  enough  !  Hasn't  meself 
been  looking  over  the  bed,  and  under  the  bed,  and  in  the  bed, 
for  the  matter  of  that,  and  divil  a  ha'p'orth  of  breeches  is  there 
to  the  fore  at  all : — I'm  bothered  entirely !" 

"Hark'ee!  Mr.  Barney,"  said  Tom,  incautiously  removing 
his  thumb  and  letting  a  crimson  stream  "  incarnadine  the  mul- 
titudinous "  lather  that  plastered  his  throat — "  this  may  be  all 
very  well  with  your  master,  but  you  don't  humbug  me,  sir : — 
tell  me  instantly  what  have  you  done  with  the  clothes  ?" 

This  abrupt  transition  from  "  lively  to  severe"  certainly  took 
Maguire  by  surprise,  and  he  seemed  for  an  instant  as  much  dis- 
concerted as  it  is  possible  to  disconcert  an  Irish  gentleman's 
gentleman. 

"  Me  ?  is  it  meself,  then,  that's  the  ghost  to  your  honor's  think- 
ing ?"  said  he  after  a  moment's  pause,  and  with  a  slight  shade 
of  indignation  in  his  tones :  "  is  it  I  would  stale  the  master's 
things — and  what  would  I  do  with  them  ?" 

"  That  you  best  know : — what  your  purpose  is  I  can't  guess, 
for  I  don't  think  you  mean  to  'stale'  them,  as  you  call  it;  but 
that  you  are  concerned  in  their  disappearance,  I  am  satisfied. 
Confound  this  blood  ! — give  me  a  towel,  Barney." 

Maguire  acquitted  himself  of  the  commission.  "As  I've  a 
sowl,  your  honor,"  said  he,  solemnly,  "  little  it  is  meself  knows 
of  the  matter :  and  after  what  I  seen " 

"  What  you've  seen !  Why,  what  have  you  seen  ? — Barney, 
I  don't  want  to  inquire  into  your  flirtations  ;  but  don't  suppose 
you  can  palm  off  your  saucer  eyes  and  gig-lamps  upon  me !" 

"  Then,  as  sure  as  your  honor's  standing  there,  I  saw  him : 


THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON.  39 

and  why  wouldn't  I,  when  Miss  Pauline  was  to  the  fore  as  well 
as  meself,  and " 

"  Get  along  with  your  nonsense — leave  the  room,  sir !" 

"  But  the  master  ?"  said  Barney,  imploringly ;  "  and  without 
a  breeches  ? — sure  he'll  be  catching  cowld  ! " 

"  Take  that,  rascal !"  replied  Ingoldsby,  throwing  a  pair  of 
pantaloons  at,  rather  than  to,  him  :  "  but  don't  suppose,  sir,  you 
shall  carry  on  your  tricks  here  with  impunity ;  recollect  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  a  treadmill,  and  that  my  father  is  a  county 
magistrate." 

Barney's  eye  flashed  fire — he  stood  erect,  and  was  about  to 
speak  ;  but,  mastering  himself,  not  without  an  effort,  he  took  up 
the  garment,  and  left  the  room  as  perpendicular  as  a  Quaker. 


"  Ingoldsby,"  said  Charles  Seaforth,  after  breakfast,  "  this  is 
now  past  a  joke ;  to-day  is  the  last  of  my  stay  ;  for,  notwith- 
standing the  ties  which  detain  me,  common  decency  obliges  me 
to  visit  home  after  so  long  an  absence.  I  shall  come  to  an  im- 
mediate explanation  with  your  father  on  the  subject  nearest  my 
heart,  and  depart  while  I  have  a  change  of  dress  left.  On  his 
answer  will  my  return  depend  !  In  the  meantime  tell  me  can- 
didly,— I  ask  it  in  all  seriousness,  and  as  a  friend, — am  I  not  a 
dupe  to  your  well-known  propensity  to  hoaxing  ?  have  you  not 

a  hand  in " 

"  No,  by  heaven,  Seaforth ;  I  see  what  you  mean :  on  my 
honor,  I  am  as  much  mystified  as  yourself;  and  if  your  serv- 
ant  " 

"  Not  he : — if  there  be  a  trick,  he  at  least  is  not  privy  to  it." 

"  If  there  he  a  trick  ?  why,  Charles,  do  you  think " 

"  I  know  not  what  to  think,  Tom.  As  surely  as  you  are  a 
living  man,  so  surely  did  that  spectral  anatomy  visit  my  room 
again  last  night,  grin  in  my  face,  and  walk  away  with  my 
trousers :  nor  was  I  able  to  spring  from  my  bed,  or  break  the 
chain  which  seemed  to  bind  me  to  my  pillow." 

"  Seaforth !"  said  Ingoldsby,  after  a  short  pause,  "  I  will 

But  hush !  here  are  the  girls  and  my  father. — I  will  carry  ofif 


40  THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON. 

the  females,  and  leave  you  a  clear  field  with  the  governor: 
carry  your  point  with  him,  and  we  will  talk  about  your  breeches 
afterwards." 

Tom's  diversion  was  successful ;  he  carried  off  the  ladies  en 
masse  to  look  at  a  remarkable  specimen  of  the  class  Dodecan- 
dria  Monogynia, — which  they  could  not  find ; — while  Seaforth 
marched  boldly  up  to  the  encounter,  and  carried  "the  gov- 
ernor's" outworks  by  a  coup  de  main.  I  shall  not  stop  to 
describe  the  progress  of  the  attack ;  sufiice  it  that  it  was  as 
successful  as  could  have  been  wished,  and  that  Seaforth  was 
referred  back  again  to  the  lady.  The  happy  lover  was  off  at  a 
tangent ;  the  botanical  party  was  soon  overtaken  ;  and  the  arm 
of  Caroline,  whom  a  vain  endeavor  to  spell  out  the  Linnsean 
name  of  a  daffy-down-dilly  had  detained  a  little  in  the  rear 
of  the  others,  was  soon  firmly  locked  in  his  own. 

"  What  was  the  world  to  them, 
Its  noise,  its  nonsense,  and  its  *  breeches,'  all  ?" 

Seaforth  was  in  the  seventh  heaven ;  he  retired  to  his  room  that 
night  as  happy  as  if  no  such  thing  as  a  goblin  had  ever  been 
heard  of,  and  personal  chattels  were  as  well  fenced  in  by  law 
as  real  property.  Not  so  Tom  Ingoldsby:  the  mystery, — for 
mystery  there  evidently  was, — had  not  only  piqued  his  curiosity, 
but  ruffled  his  temper.  The  watch  of  the  previous  night  had 
been  unsuccessful,  probably  because  it  was  undisguised.  To- 
nieht  he  would  "  ensconce  himself,"  not  indeed  "  behind  the 
arras," — for  the  little  that  remained  was,  as  we  have  seen,  nailed 
to  the  Avail, — but  in  a  small  closet  which  opened  from  one  corner 
of  the  room,  and,  by  leaving  the  door  ajar,  would  give  to  its 
occupant  a  view  of  all  that  might  pass  in  the  apartment.  Here 
did  the  young  ghost-hunter  take  up  a  position,  with  a  good  stout 
sapling  under  his  arm,  a  full  half-hour  before  Seaforth  retired 
for  the  night.'  Not  even  his  friend  did  he  let  into  his  confi- 
dence, fully  determined  that  if  his  plan  did  not  succeed,  the 
failure  should  be  attributed  to  himself  alone. 

At  the  usual  hour  of  separation  for  the  night,  Tom  saw,  from 
his  concealment,  the  lieutenant  enter  his  room,  and  after  taking 
a  few  turns  in  it,  with  an  expression  so  joyous  as  to  betoken 
that  his  thoughts  were  mainly  occupied  by  his  approaching  hap- 


THE  SPECTRE  OF  TAPPINOTON.  41 

piness,  proceed  slowly  to  disrobe  himself.  The  coat,  the  waist- 
coat, the  black  silk  stock,  were  gradually  discarded ;  the  green 
morocco  slippers  were  kicked  off,  and  then — ay,  and  then — his 
countenance  grew  grave ;  it  seemed  to  occur  to  him  all  at  once 
that  this  was  his  last  stake, — nay,  that  the  very  breeches  he  had 
on  were  not  his  own, — that  to-morrow  morning  was  his  last,  and 

that  if  he  lost  them .     A  glance  showed  that  his  mind  was 

made  up ;  he  replaced  the  single  button  he  had  just  subducted, 
and  threw  himself  upon  the  bed  in  a  state  of  transition, — half 
chrysalis,  half  grub. 

Wearily  did  Tom  Ingoldsby  watch  the  sleeper  by  the  flicker- 
ing light  of  the  night-lamp,  till  the  clock  striking  one  induced 
him  to  increase  the  narrow  opening  which  he  had  left  for  the 
purpose  of  observation.  The  motion,  slight  as  it  was,  seemed 
to  attract  Charles's  attention ;  for  he  raised  himself  suddenly 
to  a  sitting  posture,  listened  for  a  moment,  and  then  stood  up- 
right upon  the  floor.  Ingoldsby  was  on  the  point  of  discovering 
himself,  when,  the  light  flashing  full  upon  his  friend's  counte- 
nance, he  perceived  that,  though  his  eyes  were  open,  "  their 
sense  was  shut," — that  he  was  yet  under  the  influence  of  sleep. 
Seaforth  advanced  slowly  to  the  toilet,  lit  his  candle  at  the  lamp 
that  stood  on  it,  then,  going  back  to  the  bed's  foot,  appeared  to 
search  eagerly  for  something  which  he  could  not  find.  For  a 
few  moments  he  seemed  restless  and  uneasy,  walking  round  the 
apartment  and  examining  the  chairs,  till,  coming  fully  in  front 
of  a  large  swing  glass  that  flanked  the  dressing-table,  he  paused 
as  if  contemplating  his  figure  in  it.  He  now  returned  towards 
the  bed;  put  on  his  slippers,  and  with  cautious  and  stealthy 
steps  proceeded  towards  the  little  arched  doorway  that  opened 
on  the  private  staircase. 

As  he  drew  the  bolt,  Tom  Ingoldsby  emerged  from  his  hiding- 
place  ;  but  the  sleep-walker  heard  him  not ;  he  proceeded  softly 
down  stairs,  followed  at  a  due  distance  by  his  friend ;  opened  the 
door  which  led  out  upon  the  gardens ;  and  stood  at  once  among 
the  thickest  of  the  shrubs,  which  there  clustered  round  the  base 
of  a  corner  turret,  and  screened  the  postern  from  common  obser- 
vation. At  this  moment  Ingoldsby  had  nearly  spoiled  all  by 
making  a  false  step :  the  sound  attracted  Seaforth's  attention, — 
he  paused  and  turned ;  and,  as  the  fiill  moon  shed  her  light 


42  THE  SPECTRE  OF  TAPPING  TON. 

directly  upon  his  pale  and  troubled   features,  Torn  marked, 

almost  with  dismay,  the  fixed  and  rayless  appearance  of  his 

eyes : — 

"  There  was  no  speculation  in  those  orbs 
That  he  did  glare  withal." 

The  perfect  stillness  preserved  by  his  follower  seemed  to  reassure 
him ;  he  turned  aside,  and  from  the  midst  of  a  thickset  laurus- 
tinus  drew  forth  a  gardener's  spade,  shouldering  which  he  pro- 
ceeded with  greater  rapidity  into  the  midst  of  the  shrubbery. 
Arrived  at  a  certain  point  where  the  earth  seemed  to  have  been 
recently  disturbed,  he  set  himself  heartily  to  the  task  of  digging, 
till,  having  thrown  up  several  shovelfuls  of  mould,  he  stopped, 
flung  down  his  tool,  and  very  composedly  began  to  disencumber 
himself  of  his  pantaloons. 

Up  to  this  moment  Tom  had  watched  him  with  a  wary  eye : 
he  now  advanced  cautiously,  and,  as  his  friend  was  busily  en- 
gaged in  disentangling  himself  from  his  garment,  made  himself 
master  of  the  spade.  Seaforth,  meanwhile,  had  accomplished 
his  purpose :  he  stood  for  a  moment  with 

"  His  streamers  waving  in  the  wind," 

occupied  in  carefully  rolling  up  the  small-clothes  into  as  com- 
pact a  form  as  possible,  and  all  heedless  of  the  breath  of  heaven, 
which  might  certainly  be  supposed  at  such  a  moment,  and  in 
such  a  plight,  to  "  visit  his  frame  too  roughly." 

He  was  in  the  act  of  stooping  low  to  deposit  the  pantaloons 
in  the  grave  which  he  had  been  digging  for  them,  when  Tom 
Ingoldsby  came  close  behind  him,  and  with  the  flat  side  of  the 
spade 


The  shock  was  effectual ; — never  again  was  Lieutenant  Sea- 
forth known  to  act  the  part  of  a  somnambulist.  One  by  one, 
his  breeches, — his  trousers, — his  pantaloons, — his  silk-net  tights, 
— his  patent  cords, — his  showy  grays  \nth  the  broad  red  stripe 
of  the  Bombay  Fencibles,  were  brought  to  light, — rescued  from 
the  grave  in  which  they  had  been  buried,  like  the  strata  of  a 


TEE  SPECTRE  OF  TAPPINGTON.  43 

Christmas  pie ;  and  after  having  been  well  aired  by  Mrs.  Both- 
erby,  became  once  again  effective. 

The  family,  the  ladies  especially,  laughed  ; — the  Peterses 
laughed  ; — the  Simpkiusons  laughed  ; — Barney  Maguire  cried 
"  Botheration !"  and  Mam'selle  Pauline,  "  Mon  Dieu .'" 

Charles  Seaforth,  unable  to  face  the  quizzing  which  awaited 
him  on  all  sides,  started  off  two  hours  earlier  than  he  had  pro- 
posed : — he  soon  returned,  however ;  and  having,  at  his  father- 
in-law's  request,  given  up  the  occupation  of  Rajah-hunting  and 
shooting  Nabobs,  led  his  blushing  bride  to  the  altar. 

Mr.  Simpkinson  from  Bath  did  not  attend  the  ceremony,  being 
engaged  at  the  grand  Junction  meeting  of  sgavans,  then  congre- 
gating from  all  parts  of  the  known  world  in  the  city  of  Dublin. 
His  essay,  demonstrating  that  the  globe  is  a  great  custard, 
whipped  into  coagulation  by  whirlwinds,  and  cooked  by  elec- 
tricity,— a  little  too  much  baked  in  the  Isle  of  Portland,  and  a 
thought  underdone  about  the  Bog  of  Allen, — was  highly  spoken 
of,  and  narrowly  escaped  obtaining  a  Bridgewater  prize. 

Miss  Simpkinson  and  her  sister  acted  as  bridesmaids  on  the 
occasion ;  the  former  wrote  an  epithalamium,  and  the  latter  cried 
"  Lassy  me !"  at  the  clergyman's  wig.  Some  years  have  since 
rolled  on ;  the  union  has  been  crowned  with  two  or  three  tidy 
little  offshoots  from  the  family  tree,  of  whom  Master  Neddy  is 
"grandpapa's  darling,"  and  Mary  Anne  mamma's  particular 
"  Sock."  I  shall  only  add,  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Seaforth  are  living 
together  quite  as  happily  as  two  good-hearted,  good-tempered 
bodies,  veiy  fond  of  each  other,  can  possibly  do ;  and  that, 
since  the  day  of  his  marriage,  Charles  has  shown  no  disposi- 
tion to  jump  out  of  bed,  or  ramble  out  of  doors  o'nights, — 
though  from  his  entire  devotion  to  every  wish  and  whim  of  his 
young  wife,  Tom  insinuates  that  the  fair  Caroline  does  still 
occasionally  take  advantage  of  it  so  far  as  to  "  slip  on  the 
breeches." 


It  was  not  till  some  years  after  the  events  just  recorded  that 
Miss  Mary  Anne,  the  "pet  Sock"  before  alluded  to,  was  made 
acquainted  with  the  following  piece  of  family  biography.  It  was 
communicated  to  her  in  strict  confidence  by  Nurse  Botherby,  a 


44  TEE  NURSE'S  STORY. 

maiden  niece  of  the  old  lady's,  then  recently  promoted  from  the 
ranks  in  the  still-room,  to  be  second  in  command  in  the  nursery 
department. 

The  story  is  connected  with  a  dingy  wizen-faced  portrait,  in 
an  oval  frame,  generally  known  by  the  name  of  "  Uncle  Ste- 
phen," though  from  the  style  of  his  cut-velvet  it  is  evident  that 
some  generations  must  have  passed  away  since  any  living  being 
could  have  stood  towards  him  in  that  degree  of  consanguinity. 


THE    NURSE'S   STORY. 


"Malefica  quaedam  auguriatrix  in  Anglia  fuit,  quam  demones  horribiliter  extrax- 
erunt,  et  imponentes  super  equum  terribilem,  per  aera  rapuerunt ;  Clamoresque 
terribiles  (ut  ferunt)  per  quatuor  fermg  miliaria  audiebantur." — Nuremb.  Chron. 

ON  the  lone  bleak  moor,     At  the  midnight  hour, 
Beneath  the  Gallows  Tree, 

Hand  in  hand    The  Murderers  stand 
By  one,  by  two,  by  three ! 

And  the  Moon  that  night    With  a  gray,  cold  light 
Each  baleful  object  tips ; 

One  half  of  her  form     Is  seen  through  the  storm, 
The  other  half's  hid  in  Eclipse ! 

And  the  cold  "Wind  howls.    And  the  Thunder  growls, 
And  the  Lightning  is  broad  and  bright ; 

And  altogether     It's  very  bad  weather. 
And  an  unpleasant  sort  of  a  night ! 

"  Now  mount  who  list.     And  close  by  the  wrist 
Sever  me  quickly  the  Dead  Man's  fist ! — 

Now  climb  who  dare    \yhere  he  swings  in  air. 
And  pluck  me  five  locks  of  the  Dead  Man's  hair !" 


THE  HAND    OF  GLORY.  45 

There's  an  old  woman  dwells  upon  Tappington  Moor, 

She  hath  years  on  her  back  at  the  least  fourscore, 

And  some  people  fancy  a  great  many  more ; 

Her  nose  it  is  hook'd,     Her  back  it  is  crook'd. 
Her  eyes  blear  and  red :     On  the  top  of  her  head 
Is  a  mutch,  and  on  that    A  shocking  bad  hat. 

Extinguisher-shaped,  the  brim  narrow  and  flat ! 

Then, — my  gracious ! — her  beard ! — it  would  sadly  perplex 

A  spectator  at  first  to  distinguish  her  sex ; 

Nor,  I'll  venture  to  say,  without  scrutiny  could  he 

Pronounce  her,  off-handed,  a  Punch  or  a  Judy. 

Did  you  see  her,  in  short,  that  mud-hovel  within. 

With  her  knees  to  her  nose,  and  her  nose  to  her  chin, 

Leering  up  with  that  queer,  indescribable  grin. 

You'd  lift  up  your  hands  in  amazement,  and  cry, 

"  — Well ! — I  never  did  see  such  a  regular  Guy !" 


And  now  before    That  Old  Woman's  door, 
Where  nought  that's  good  may  be. 

Hand  in  hand    The  Murderers  stand 
By  one,  by  two,  by  three ! 
Oh !  'tis  a  horrible  sight  to  view, 
In  that  horrible  hovel,  that  horrible  crew. 
By  the  pale  blue  glare  of  that  flickering  flame, 
Doing  the  deed  that  hath  never  a  name ! 

'Tis  awful  to  hear    Those  words  of  fear ! 
The  prayer  mutter'd  backwards  and  said  with  a  sneer ! 
(Matthew  Hopkins  himself  has  assured  us  that  when 
A  witch  says  her  prayers,  she  begins  with  "  Amen.") — 

— 'Tis  awful  to  see    On  that  Old  Woman's  knee 
The  dead,  shrivell'd  hand,  as  she  clasps  it  with  glee ! — 

And  now  with  care.     The  five  locks  of  hair 
From  the  skull  of  the  Gentleman  dangling  up  there, 

With  the  grease  and  the  fat     Of  a  black  Tom  Cat 

She  hastens  to  mix,     And  to  twist  into  wicks, 
And  one  on  the  thumb  and  each  finger  to  fix. — 
(For  another  receipt  the  same  charm  to  prepare. 
Consult  Mr.  Ainsworth  and  Petit  Albert.^ 


46  THE  NURSE'S  STORY. 

"  Now  open  lock     To  the  Dead  Man's  knock ! 

Fly  bolt,  and  bar,  and  band ! — 

Kor  move,  nor  swerve    Joint,  muscle,  or  nerve. 
At  the  spell  of  the  Dead  Man's  hand ! 
Sleep  all  who  sleep ! — Wake  all  who  wake ! — 
But  be  as  the  Dead  for  the  Dead  Man's  sake !" 


All  is  silent !  all  is  still, 

Save  the  ceaseless  moan  of  the  bubbling  rill 

As  it  wells  from  the  bosom  of  Tappington  Hill, 

And  in  Tappington  Hall    Great  and  Small, 
Gentle  and  Simple,  Squire  and  Groom, 
Each  one  hath  sought  his  separate  room, 
And  Sleep  her  dark  mantle  hath  o'er  them  cast, 
For  the  midnight  hour  hath  long  been  past ! 
All  is  darksome  in  earth  and  sky. 
Save,  from  yon  casement,  narrow  and  high, 

A  quivering  beam     On  the  tiny  stream 
Plays,  like  some  taper's  fitful  gleam 
By  one  that  is  watching  wearily. 

Within  that  casement,  narrow  and  high, 
In  his  secret  lair,  where  none  may  spy, 
Sits  one  whose  brow  is  wrinkled  with  care, 
And  the  thin  gray  locks  of  his  failing  hair 
Have  left  his  little  bald  pate  all  bare ; 

For  his  full-bottom'd  wig    Hangs,  bushy  and  big. 
On  the  top  of  his  old-fashion'd,  high-back'd  chair. 

Unbraced  are  his  clothes,     Ungarter'd  his  hose. 
His  gown  is  bedizen'd  with  tulip  and  rose, 
Flowers  of  remarkable  size  and  hue, 
Flowers  such  as  Eden  never  knew ; 
— And  there  by  many  a  sparkling  heap 

Of  the  good  red  gold.    The  tale  is  told 
What  powerful  spell  avails  to  keep 
That  careworn  man  from  his  needful  sleep ! 
Haply  he  deems  no  eye  can  see 
As  he  gloats  on  his  treasure  greedily, — 


THE  HAND   OF  OLORY.  47 

The  shining  store     Of  glittering  ore, 
The  fair  rose-noble,  the  bright  moidore. 
And  the  broad  Double-Joe  from  ayont  the  sea, — 
But  there's  one  that  watches  as  well  as  he ; 

For,  wakeful  and  sly.     In  a  closet  hard  by, 
On  his  truckle  bed  lieth  a  little  Foot-page, 
A  boy  who's  uncommonly  sharp  of  his  age, 

Like  young  Master  Horner,     Who  erst  in  a  corner 

Sat  eating  a  Christmas  pie : 
And,  while  that  Old  Gentleman's  counting  his  hoards, 
Little  Hugh  peeps  through  a  crack  in  the  boards ! 


There's  a  voice  in  the  air,     There's  a  step  on  the  stair, 
The  old  man  starts  in  his  cane-back'd  chair ; 

At  the  first  faint  sound     He  gazes  around. 
And  holds  up  his  dip  of  sixteen  to  the  pound. 

Then  half  arose    From  beside  his  toes 
His  little  pug-dog  with  his  little  pug  nose, 
But,  ere  he  can  vent  one  inquisitive  sniff, 
That  little  pug-dog  stands  stark  and  stiff, 

For  low,  yet  clear,     Now  fall  on  the  ear, 
— Where  once  pronounced  for  ever  they  dwell — 
The  unholy  words  of  the  Dead  Man's  spell ! 

"  Open  lock    To  the  Dead  Man's  knock ! 

Fly  bolt,  and  bar,  and  band ! — 

Nor  move,  nor  swerve    Joint,  muscle,  or  nerve, 
At  the  spell  of  the  Dead  Man's  hand ! 
Sleep  all  who  sleep ! — Wake  all  who  wake ! — 
But  be  as  the  Dead  for  the  Dead  Man's  sake !" 

Now  lock,  nor  bolt,  nor  bar  avails, 

Nor  stout  oak  panel  thick-studded  with  nails. 

Heavy  and  harsh  the  hinges  creak. 

Though  they  had  been  oil'd  in  the  course  of  the  week ; 

The  door  opens  wide  as  wide  may  be, 

And  there  they  stand.     That  murderous  band, 
Lit  by  the  light  of  the  Glorious  Hand, 

By  one ! — by  two ! — by  three ! 


48  TEE  NURSE'S  STORY. 

They  have  pass'd  through  the  porch,  they  have  pass'd  through 

the  hall, 
Where  the  Porter  sat  snoring  against  the  wall ; 

The  very  snore  froze    In  his  very  snub  nose, 
You'd  have  verily  deem'd  he  had  snored  his  last 
When  the  Glorious  Hand  by  the  side  of  him  pass'd ! 
E'en  the  little  wee  mouse,  as  it  ran  o'er  the  mat 
At  the  top  of  its  speed  to  escape  from  the  cat. 

Though  half  dead  with  affright,     Paused  in  its  flight ; 
And  the  cat  that  was  chasing  that  little  wee  thing 
Lay  couch'd  as  a  statue  in  act  to  spring ! 

And  now  they  are  there,     On  the  head  of  the  stair, 
And  the  long  crooked  whittle  is  gleaming  and  bare ! 
— I  really  don't  think  any  money  would  bribe 
Me  the  horrible  scene  that  ensued  to  describe. 

Or  the  wild,  wild  glare     Of  that  old  man's  eye, 

His  dumb  despair,  and  deep  agony. 

The  kid  from  the  pen,  and  the  lamb  from  the  fold. 
Unmoved  may  the  blade  of  the  butcher  behold ; 
They  dream  not — ah,  happier  they  ! — that  the  knife, 
Though  uplifted,  can  menace  their  innocent  life ; 
It  falls ;— the  frail  thread  of  their  being  is  riven, 
They  dread  not,  suspect  not,  the  blow  till  'tis  given. — 
But,  oh !  what  a  thing  'tis  to  see  and  to  know 
That  the  bare  knife  is  raised  in  the  hand  of  the  foe. 
Without  hope  to  repel,  or  to  ward  off  the  blow ! — 
— Enough ! — let's  pass  over  as  fast  as  we  can 
The  fate  of  that  gray,  that  unhappy  old  man ! 

But  fancy  poor  Hugh,     Aghast  at  the  view, 

Powerless  alike  to  speak  or  to  do ! 

In  vain  doth  he  try    To  open  the  eye 
That  is  shut,  or  close  that  which  is  clapt  to  the  chink, 
Though  he'd  give  all  the  world  to  be  able  to  wink  !— 
No ! — for  all  that  this  world  can  give  or  refuse, 
I  would  not  be  now  in  that  little  boy's  shoes, 
Or  indeed  any  garment  at  all  that  is  Hugh's ! 


THE  HAND   OF  OLORT.  49 

— 'Tis  lucky  for  him  that  the  chiuk  in  the  wall 

He  has  peep'd  through  so  long,  is  so  narrow  and  small ! 

Wailing  voices,  sounds  of  woe 

Such  as  follow  departing  friends, 
That  fatal  night  round  Tappiugton  go. 

Its  long-drawn  roofs  and  its  gable  ends  : 
Ethereal  Spirits,  gentle  and  good, 

Aye  weep  and  lament  o'er  a  deed  of  blood. 


'Tis  early  dawn — the  morn  is  gray, 

And  the  clouds  and  the  tempest  have  pass'd  away, 

And  all  things  betoken  a  very  fine  day ; 

But,  while  the  lark  her  carol  is  singing, 

Shrieks  and  screams  are  through  Tappington  ringing. 

Upstarting  all.     Great  and  small, 
Each  one  who's  found  within  Tappington  Hall, 
Gentle  and  Simple,  Squire  or  Groom, 
All  seek  at  once  that  Old  Gentleman's  room ; 

And  there,  on  the  floor,     Drench'd  in  its  gore, 
A  ghastly  corpse  lies  exposed  to  the  view, 
Carotid  and  jugular  both  cut  through  1 

And  there,  by  its  side,     'Mid  the  crimson  tide, 
Kneels  a  little  Foot-page  of  tenderest  years ; 
Adown  his  pale  cheek  the  fast-falling  tears 
Are  coursing  each  other  round  and  big. 
And  he's  stanching  the  blood  with  a  full-bottom'd  wig. 
Alas !  and  alack  for  his  stanching ! — 'tis  plain. 
As  anatomists  tell  us,  that  never  again 
Shall  life  revisit  the  foully  slain, 
When  once  they've  been  cut  through  the  jugular  vein. 


There's  a  hue  and  a  cry  through  the  County  of  Kent, 
And  in  chase  of  the  cut-throats  a  Constable's  sent, 
But  no  one  can  tell  the  man  which  way  they  went : 
There's  a  little  Foot-page  with  that  Constable  goes, 
And  a  little  pug-dog  with  a  little  pug  nose. 
4 


50  THE  NURSE'S  STORY. 

In  Rochester  town,     At  the  sign  of  the  Crown, 
Three  shabby-genteel  men  are  just  sitting  down 
To  a  fat  stubble-goose,  with  potatoes  done  brown ; 
When  a  little  Foot-page     Rushes  in,  in  a  rage, 
Upsetting  the  apple-sauce,  onions,  and  sage. 
That  little  Foot-page  takes  the  first  by  the  throat. 
And  a  little  pug-dog  takes  the  next  by  the  coat. 
And  a  Constable  seizes  the  one  more  remote ; 
And  fair  rose-nobles  and  broad  moidores 
The  Waiter  pulls  out  of  their  pockets  by  scores, 
And  the  Boots  and  the  Chambermaids  run  in  and  stare ; 
And  the  Constable  says,  with  a  dignified  air, 
"  You're  wanted,  Gen'lemen,  one  and  all. 
For  that  'ere  precious  lark  at  Tappington  Hall !" 

There's  a  black  gibbet  frowns  upon  Tappington  Moor, 
Where  a  former  black  gibbet  has  frowned  before : 

It  is  as  black  as  black  may  be, 

And  murderers  there    Are  dangling  in  air. 

By  one ! — by  two ! — by  three ! 

There's  a  horrid  old  hag  in  a  steeple-crowned  hat, 

Round  her  neck  they  have  tied  to  a  hempen  cravat 

A  Dead  Man's  hand,  and  a  dead  Tom  Cat ! 

They  have  tied  up  her  thumbs,  they  have  tied  up  her  toes, 

They  have  tied  up  her  eyes,  they  have  tied  up  her  limbs ; 
Into  Tappington  mill-dam  souse  she  goes. 

With  a  whoop  and  a  halloo !  — "  She  swims ! — She  swims !" 
They  have  dragged  her  to  land.     And  every  one's  hand 

Is  grasping  a  fagot,  a  billet,  or  brand. 
When  a  queer-looking  horseman,  drest  all  in  black. 
Snatches  up  that  old  harridan  just  like  a  sack 
To  the  crupper  behind  him,  puts  spurs  to  his  hack. 
Makes  a  dash  through  the  crowd,  and  is  off  in  a  crack ! 

No  one  can  tell.     Though  they  guess  pretty  well, 
Which  way  that  grim  rider  and  old  woman  go. 
For  all  see  he's  a  sort  of  infernal  Ducrow ; 
And  she  screamed  so,  and  cried.     We  may  fairly  decide 
That  the  old  woman  did  not  much  relish  her  ride ! 


''LOOK  AT  THE  CLOCK r  61 

MOEAL. 

This  truest  of  stories  confirms  beyond  doubt 
That  truest  of  adages — "  Murder  will  out !" 
In  vain  may  the  blood-spiller  "  double  "  and  fly, 
In  vain  even  witchcraft  and  sorcery  try : 
Although  for  a  time  he  may  'scape,  by-and-by 
He'll  be  sure  to  be  caught  by  a  Hugh  and  a  Cry ! 


One  marvel  follows  another  as  naturally  as  one  "  shoulder 
of  mutton"  is  said  "to  drive  another  down."  A  little  Welsh 
girl,  who  sometimes  makes  her  way  from  the  kitchen  into  the 
nursery,  after  listening  with  intense  interest  to  this  tale,  imme- 
diately started  off  at  score  with  the  sum  and  substance  of  what, 
in  due  reverence  for  such  authority,  I  shall  call 

PATTY  MORGAN  THE  MILKMAID'S  STORY. 


^'ILcolt  at  i^t  modt/' 

FYTTE  I, 

"  T  OOK  at  the  clock !"  quoth  Winifred  Pryce, 

-Li     As  she  opened  the  door  to  her  husband's  knock, 
Then  paused  to  give  him  a  piece  of  advice, 

"  You  nasty  AVarmint,  look  at  the  Clock ! 

Is  this  the  way,  you     Wretch,  every  day  you 
Treat  her  who  vowed  to  love  and  obey  you  ? — 

Out  all  night !     Me  in  a  fright ; 
Staggering  home  as  it's  just  getting  light ! 
You  intoxified  brute ! — you  insensible  block ! — 
Look  at  the  Clock !— Do !— Look  at  the  Clock !" 

Winifred  Pryce  was  tidy  and  clean, 

Her  gown  was  a  flowered  one,  her  petticoat  green. 


62  THE  MILKMAID'S  STORY. 

Her  buckles  were  bright  as  her  milking  cans, 
And  her  hat  was  a  beaver,  and  made  like  a  man's ; 
Her  little  red  eyes  wore  deep  set  in  their  socket-holes. 
Her  gown-tail  was  turned  up,  and  tucked  through  the  pocket- 
holes  ; 
A  face  like  a  ferret    Betokened  her  spirit : 
To  conclude,  Mrs.  Pryce  was  not  over  young, 
Had  very  short  legs,  and  a  very  long  tongue. 

Now  David  Pryce    Had  one  darling  vice ; 
Remarkably  partial  to  anything  nice, 
Nought  that  was  good  to  him  came  amiss, 
Whether  to  eat,  or  to  drink,  or  to  kiss ! 

Especially  ale —    If  it  was  not  too  stale 
I  really  believe  he'd  have  emptied  a  pail ; 

Not  that  in  Wales    They  talk  of  their  Ales ; 
To  pronounce  the  word  they  make  use  of  might  trouble  you, 
Being  spelt  with  a  C,  two  Rs,  and  a  W. 

That  particular  day.     As  I've  heard  people  say, 
Mr.  David  Pryce  had  been  soaking  his  clay. 
And  amusing  himself  with  his  pipe  and  cheroots. 
The  whole  afternoon,  at  the  Goat-in-Boots, 

With  a  couple  more  soakers.     Thoroughbred  smokers, 
Both,  like  himself,  prime  singers  and  jokers ; 
And  long  after  day  had  drawn  to  a  close. 
And  the  rest  of  the  world  was  wrapp'd  in  repose, 
They  were  roaring  out  "  Shenkin ! "  and  "  Ar  hydd  y  nos ;" 
While  David  himself,  to  a  Sassenach  tune. 
Sang,  "We've  drunk  down  the  Sun,  boys!   let's  drink  down 
the  Moon ! 

What  have  we  with  day  to  do  ? 

Mrs.  Winifred  Price,  'twas  made  for  you  ;" 
At  length,  when  they  couldn't  well  drink  any  more, 
Old  "  Goat-in-Boots  "  show'd  them  the  door : 

And  then  came  that  knock.     And  the  sensible  shock 
David  felt  when  his  wife  cried,  "  Look  at  the  Clock !" 
For  the  hands  stood  as  crooked  as  crooked  might  be, 
The  long  at  the  Twelve,  and  the  short  at  the  Three ! 


<^LOOK  AT   THE  CLOCK r  53 

That  self-same  clock  had  long  been  a  bone 
Of  contention  between  this  Darby  and  Joan, 
And  often,  among  their  pother  and  rout, 
When  this  otherwise  amiable  couple  fell  out, 

Pryce  would  drop  a  cool  hint.     With  an  ominous  squint 
At  its  case,  of  an  "  Uncle"  of  his,  who'd  a  "  Spout." 

That  horrid  word  "  Spout"     No  sooner  came  out 
Than  Winifred  Pryce  would  turn  her  about, 

And  with  scorn  on  her  lip,     And  a  hand  on  each  hip, 
"Spout"  herself  till  her  nose  grew  red  at  the  tip. 

"  You  thundering  willin,     I  know  you'd  be  killing 
Your  wife — ay,  a  dozen  of  wives — for  a  shilling ! 

You  may  do  what  you  please.     You  may  sell  my  chemise 
(Mrs.  P.  was  too  well-bred  to  mention  her  smock), 
But  I  never  will  part  with  my  Grandmother's  Clock !" 

Mrs.  Pryce's  tongue  ran  long  and  ran  fast ; 

But  patience  is  apt  to  wear  out  at  last. 

And  David  Pryce  in  temper  was  quick. 

So  he  stretch'd  out  his  hand  and  caught  hold  of  a  stick  ; 

Perhaps  in  its  use  he  might  mean  to  be  lenient, 

But  walking  just  then  wasn't  very  convenient. 

So  he  threw  it,  instead,     Direct  at  her  head ; 

It  knock'd  off  her  hat ;     Down  she  fell  flat ; 
Her  case,  perhaps,  was  not  much  mended  by  that : 
But  whatever  it  was, — whether  rage  and  pain 
Produced  apoplexy,  or  burst  a  vein. 
Or  her  tumble  produced  a  concussion  of  brain, 
I  can't  say  for  certain, — but  this  I  can. 
When,  sober'd  by  fright,  to  assist  her  he  ran, 
Mrs.  Winifred  Pryce  was  as  dead  as  Queen  Anne ! 

The  fearful  catastrophe    Named  in  my  last  strophe 
As  adding  to  grim  Death's  exploits  such  a  vast  trophy, 
Made  a  great  noise ;  and  the  shocking  fatality 
Kan  over,  like  wildfire,  the  whole  Principality. 
And  then  came  Mr.  Ap  Thomas,  the  Coroner, 
With  his  jury  to  sit,  some  dozen  or  more,  on  her. 

Mr.  Pryce,  to  commence    His  "  ingenious  defence," 
Made  a  "powerful  appeal"  to  the  jury's  "good  sense:" 


54  THE  MILKMAID'S  STORY. 

"  The  world  he  must  defy    Ever  to  justify- 
Any  presumption  of  '  Malice  Prepense.'  " 

The  unlucky  lick     From  the  end  of  his  stick 
He  "  deplored," — he  was  "  apt  to  be  rather  too  quick ;" — 

But,  really,  her  prating    Was  so  aggravating : 
Some  trifling  correction  was  just  what  he  meant : — all 
The  rest,  he  assured  them,  was  "  quite  accidental !" 

Then  he  calls  Mr.  Jones,    Who  depones  to  her  tones, 
And  her  gestures,  and  hints  about  "  breaking  his  bones ;" 
While  Mr.  Ap  Morgan  and  Mr.  Ap  Rhys 

Declare  the  deceased  Had  styled  him  "  a  Beast," 
And  swear  they  had  witness'd,  Avith  grief  and  surprise, 
The  allusion  she  made  to  his  limbs  and  his  eyes. 

The  jury,  in  fine,  having  sat  on  the  body 

The  whole  day,  discussing  the  case,  and  gin  toddy, 

Return'd  about  half-past  eleven  at  night 

The  following  verdict,  "  We  find,  Sarve  her  right !" 

Mr.  Pryce,  Mrs.  Winifred  Pryce  being  dead, 
Felt  lonely,  and  moped ;  and  one  evening  he  said 
He  would  marry  Miss  Davis  at  once  in  her  stead. 

Not  far  from  his  dwelling,    From  the  vale  proudly  swelling, 
Rose  a  mountain  ;  its  name  you'll  excuse  me  from  telling, 
For  the  vowels  made  use  of  in  Welsh  are  so  few. 
That  the  A  and  the  E,  the  I,  O,  and  the  U, 
Have  really  but  little  or  nothing  to  do ; 
And  the  duty,  of  course,  falls  the  heavier  by  far 
On  the  L,  and  the  H,  and  the  N,  and  the  R. 

Its  first  syllable,  "  Pen,"     Is  pronounceable ;— then 
Come  two  L  Ls,  and  two  H  Hs,  two  F  Fs,  and  an  N, 
About  half  a  score  Rs,  and  some  Ws  follow. 
Beating  all  my  best  efibrts  at  euphony  hollow : 
But  we  shan't  have  to  mention  it  often,  so  when 
We  do,  with  your  leave,  we'll  curtail  it  to  "  Pen." 

Well— the  moon  shone  bright    Upon  "  Pen,"  that  night. 
When  Pryce,  being  quit  of  his  fuss  and  his  fright, 


''LOOK  AT  THE   CLOCK r  55 

Was  scaling  its  side    With  that  sort  of  stride 
A  man  puts  out  when  walking  in  search  of  a  bride. 

Mounting  higher  and  higher,     He  began  to  perspire, 
Till,  finding  his  legs  were  beginning  to  tire. 

And  feeling  opprest     By  a  pain  in  his  chest. 
He  paused,  and  turned  round  to  take  breath  and  to  rest : 
A  walk  all  up  hill  is  apt,  we  know, 
To  make  one,  however  robust,  puff  and  blow. 
So  he  stopped  and  looked  down  on  the  valley  below. 

O'er  fell  and  o'er  fen,     Over  mountain  and  glen, 
All  bright  in  the  moonshine,  his  eye  roved,  and  then 
All  the  Patriot  rose  in  his  soul,  and  he  thought 
Upon  Wales,  and  her  glories,  and  all  he'd  been  taught 

Of  her  Heroes  of  old,     So  brave  and  so  bold, — 
Of  her  Bards  with  long  beards,  and  harps  mounted  in  gold : 

Of  King  Edward  the  First,     Of  memory  accurst ; 
And  the  scandalous  manner  in  which  he  behaved. 

Killing  poets  by  dozens     With  their  uncles  and  cousins. 
Of  whom  not  one  in  fifty  had  ever  been  shaved — 
Of  the  Court  Ball,  at  which,  by  a  lucky  mishap, 
Owen  Tudor  fell  into  Queen  Katherine's  lap ; 

And  how  Mr.  Tudor     Successfully  wooed  her, 
Till  the  Dowager  put  on  a  new  wedding  ring. 
And  so  made  him  Father-in-law  to  the  King. 

He  thought  upon  Arthur  and  Merlin  of  yore. 

On  GryfBth  ap  Con  an  and  Owen  Glendour ; 

On  Pendragon,  and  Heaven  knows  how  many  more. 

He  thought  of  all  this,  as  he  gazed,  in  a  trice. 

And  on  all  things,  in  short,  but  the  late  Mrs.  Pryce ; 

When  a  lumbering  noise  from  behind  made  him  start, 

And  sent  the  blood  back  in  full  tide  to  his  heart, 

Which  went  pit-a-pat.     As  he  cried  out,  "What's  that?" — 
That  very  queer  sound  ? —     Does  it  come  from  the  ground  ? 

Or  the  air, — from  above, — or  below, — or  around  ? — 
It  is  not  like  Talking,     It  is  not  like  Walking, 

It's  not  like  the  clattering  of  pot  or  of  pan, 

Or  the  tramp  of  a  horse, — or  the  tread  of  a  man, — 


56  TEE  MILKMAID'S  STORY. 

Or  the  hum  of  a  crowd,  or  the  shouting  of  boys, — 
It's  really  a  deuced  odd  sort  of  a  noise ! 
Not  unlike  a  cart's,— but  that  can't  be ;  for  when 
Could  "  all  the  King's  horses,  and  all  the  King's  men," 
With  Old  Nick  for  a  wagoner,  drive  one  up  "  Pen  "? 

Pryce,  usually  brimful  of  valor  when  drunk, 

Now  experienced  what  schoolboys  denominate  "  funk." 

In  vain  he  looked  back     On  the  whole  of  the  track 
He  had  traversed ;  a  thick  cloud,  uncommonly  black. 
At  this  moment  obscured  the  broad  disk  of  the  moon. 
And  did  not  seem  likely  to  pass  away  soon ; 

While  clearer  and  clearer,     'Twas  plain  to  the  hearer, 
Be  the  noise  what  it  might,  it  drew  nearer  and  nearer. 
And  sounded,  as  Pryce  to  this  moment  declares. 
Very  much  "  like  a  Coffin  a-walking  up  stairs." 

Mr.  Pryce  had  begun     To  "  make  up"  for  a  run, 
As  in  such  a  companion  he  saw  no  great  fun, 

When  a  single  bright  ray     Shone  out  on  the  way 
He  had  passed,  and  he  saw,  with  no  little  dismay, 
Coming  after  him,  bounding  o'er  crag  and  o'er  rock. 
The  deceased  Mrs.  Winifred's  "  Grandmother's  Clock ! !" 
'Twas  so ! — it  had  certainly  moved  from  its  place, 
And  come  lumbering  on  thus,  to  hold  him  in  chase ; 
'Twas  the  very  same  Head,  and  the  very  same  Case, 
And  nothing  was  altered  at  all — but  the  Face ! 
In  that  he  perceived,  with  no  little  surprise. 
The  two  little  winder-holes  turned  into  eyes 

Blazing  with  ire.     Like  two  coals  of  fire ; 
And  the  "  Name  of  the  Maker  "  was  changed  to  a  Lip, 
And  the  Hands  to  a  Nose  with  a  very  red  tip. 
No ! — he  could  not  mistake  it, — 'twas  She  to  the  life ! 
The  identical  face  of  his  poor  defunct  wife ! 

One  glance  was  enough.     Completely  "  Quant,  suff." 
As  the  doctors  write  down  when  they  send  you  their  "  stuff' 
Like  a  Weather-cock  whirled  by  a  vehement  puff. 


''LOOK  AT  THE   CLOCK!"  57 

David  turned  himself  round ;     Ten  feet  of  ground 
He  cleared,  in  his  start,  at  the  very  first  bound ! 
I've  seen  people  run  at  West-End  Fair  for  cheeses — 
I've  seen  ladies  run  at  Bow  Fair  for  chemises — 
At  Greenwich  Fair  twenty  men  run  for  a  hat. 
And  one  from  a  Bailiff  much  faster  than  that : 
At  foot-ball  I've  seen  lads  run  after  the  bladder — 
I've  seen  Irish  bricklayers  run  up  a  ladder — 
I've  seen  little  boys  run  away  from  a  cane — 
And  I've  seen  (that  is,  read  of)  good  running  in  Spain ;  * 

But  I  never  did  read     Of,  or  witness,  such  speed 
As  David  exerted  that  evening. — Indeed 
All  I  have  ever  heard  of  boys,  women,  or  men, 
Falls  far  short  of  Pryce,  as  he  ran  over  Pen  ! 

He  reaches  its  brow, —    He  has  past  it,  and  now. 
Having  once  gained  the  summit,  and  managed  to  cross  it,  he 
Rolls  down  the  side  with  uncommon  velocity ; 

But  run  as  he  will.     Or  roll  down  the  hill, 
The  bugbear  behind  him  is  after  him  still ! 
And  close  at  his  heels,  not  at  all  to  his  liking. 
The  terrible  clock  keeps  on  ticking  and  striking, 

Till,  exhausted  and  sore.     He  can't  run  any  more, 
But  falls  as  he  reaches  Miss  Davis's  door. 
And  screams  when  they  rush  out,  alarmed  at  his  knock, 
"  Oh !  Look  at  the  Clock !— Do !— Look  at  the  Clock ! !" 

Miss  Davis  looked  up.  Miss  Davis  looked  down. 
She  saw  nothing  there  to  alarm  her ; — a  frown 

Came  o'er  her  white  forehead ;     She  said,  "  it  was  horrid 
A  man  should  come  knocking  at  that  time  of  night, 
And  give  her  Mamma  and  herself  such  a  fright ; — 

To  squall  and  to  bawl     About  nothing  at  all !" 
She  begged  "  he'd  not  think  of  repeating  his  call : 

His  late  wife's  disaster     By  no  means  had  past  her ;" 
She'd  "  have  him  to  know  she  was  meat  for  his  Master !" 
Then  regardless  alike  of  his  love  and  his  woes. 
She  turned  on  her  heel  and  she  turned  up  her  nose. 

*  I-run  is  a  town  said  to  have  been  so  named  from  something  of  this  sort. 


58  THE  MILKMAID'S  STORY. 

Poor  David  in  vain     Implored  to  remain  ; 
He  "  dared  not,"  lie  said,  "  cross  the  mountain  again." 

Why  the  fair  was  obdurate     None  knows, — to  be  sure,  it 
Was  said  she  was  setting  her  cap  at  the  Curate. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  certain  the  sole  hole 
Pryce  found  to  creep  into  that  night  was  the  Coal-hole ! 

In  that  shady  retreat.     With  nothing  to  eat, 
And  with  very  bruised  limbs,  and  with  very  sore  feet, 

All  night  close  he  kept ;     I  can't  say  he  slept ; 
But  he  sighed,  and  he  sobbed,  and  he  groaned,  and  he  wept; 

Lamenting  his  sins,     And  his  two  broken  shins, 
Bewailing  his  fate  with  contortions  and  grins. 
And  her  he  once  thought  a  complete  Rara  Avis, 
Consigning  to  Satan, — viz.,  cruel  Miss  Davis ! 

Mr.  David  has  since  had  a  "  serious  call," 
He  never  drinks  ale,  wine,  or  spirits,  at  all, 
And  they  say  he  is  going  to  Exeter  Hall 

To  make  a  grand  speech.    And  to  preach,  and  to  teach 
People  that  "  they  can't  brew  their  malt  liquor  too  small." 
That  an  ancient  Welsh  Poet,  one  Pyndar  ap  Tudor, 
Was  right  in  proclaiming  "  Ariston  men  Udor  !" 

Which  means  "  The  pure  Element     Is  for  Man's  belly 
meant !" 
And  that  GirCa  but  a  Snare  of  Old  Nick  the  deluder ! 

And  "  still  on  each  evening  when  pleasure  fills  up," 
At  the  old  Goat-in-Boots,  -svith  Metheglin,  each  cup, 

Mr.  Pryce,  if  he's  there.     Will  get  into  "  The  Chair," 
And  make  all  his  quondam  associates  stare 
By  calling  aloud  to  the  Landlady's  daughter, 
"  Patty,  bring  a  cigar,  and  a  glass  of  Spring  Water !" 
The  dial  he  constantly  watches ;  and  when 
The  long  hand's  at  the  "  XII.,"  and  the  short  at  the  "  X.," 

He  gets  on  his  legs,     Drains  his  glass  to  the  dregs, 
Takes  his  hat  and  great-coat  off  their  several  pegs. 
With  his  President's  hammer  bestows  his  last  knock, 
And  says  solemnly — "  Gentlemen ! 

Look  at  the  Clock!!!" 


A  LEGEND    OF  SHEPPEY.  59 

The  succeeding  Legend  has  long  been  an  established  favorite 
with  all  of  us,  as  containing  much  of  the  personal  history  of 
one  of  the  greatest  ornaments  of  the  family  tree. 

To  the  wedding  between  the  sole  heiress  of  this  redoubted 
hero  and  a  direct  ancestor  is  it  owing  that  the  Lioncels  of 
Shurlaud  hang  so  lovingly  parallel  with  the  Saltire  of  the 
Ingoldsbys,  and  now  form  as  cherished  a  quartering  in  their 
escutcheon  as  the  "dozen  white  lowses"  in  the  "old  coat"  of 
Shallow. 

Crag  2iolpi)in. 

A   LEGEND   OF   SHEPPEY. 

«nr~rE  won't— won't  he?     Then  bring  me  my  boots!"  said 
J — L     the  Baron. 

Consternation  was  at  its  height  in  the  castle  of  Shurland— a 
caitiff  had  dared  to  disobey  the  Baron !  and— the  Baron  had 
called  for  his  boots ! 

A  thunderbolt  in  the  great  hall  had  been  a  bagatelle  to  it. 

A  few  days  before  a  notable  miracle  had  been  wrought  in  the 
neighborhood ;  and  in  those  times  miracles  were  not  so  common 
as  they  are  now ;  no  royal  balloons,  no  steam,  no  railroads, — 
while  the  few  Saints  who  took  the  trouble  to  walk  with  their 
heads  under  their  arms,  or  to  pull  the  devil  by  the  nose, 
scarcely  appeared  above  once  in  a  century  ; — so  the  affair  made 
the  greater  sensation. 

The  clock  had  done  striking  twelve,  and  the  Clerk  of  Chat- 
ham was  untrussing  his  points  preparatory  to  seeking  his 
truckle-bed ;  a  half-emptied  tankard  of  mild  ale  stood  at  his 
elbow,  the  roasted  crab  yet  floating  on  its  surface.  ]\Iidnight 
had  surprised  the  worthy  functionary  while  occupied  in  discuss- 
ing it,  and  with  his  task  yet  unaccomplished.  He  meditated  a 
mighty  draft :  one  hand  was  fumbling  with  his  tags,  while  the 
other  was  extended  in  the  act  of  grasping  the  jorum,  when  a 
knock  on  the  portal,  solemn  and  sonorous,  arrested  his  fingers. 
It  was  repeated  thrice  ere  Emmanuel  Saddleton  had  presence 


60  GRAY  DOLPniN. 

of  mind  sufficient  to  inquire  who  sought  admittance  at  that  un- 
timeous  hour, 

"Open!  open!  good  Clerk  of  St.  Bridget's,"  said  a  female 
voice,  small  yet  distinct  and  sweet, — an  excellent  thing  in 
woman. 

The  Clerk  arose,  crossed  to   the   doorway,  and  undid  the 

latchet. 

On  the  threshold  stood  a  Lady  of  surpassing  beauty :  lier 
robes  were  rich,  and  large,  and  full ;  and  a  diadem,  sparkling 
with  gems  that  shed  a  halo  around,  crowned  her  brow:  she 
beckoned  the  Clerk  as  he  stood  in  astonishment  before  her. 

"  Emmanuel !"  said  the  Lady ;  and  her  tones  sounded  like 
those  of  a  silver  flute.  "  Emmanuel  Saddleton,  truss  up  your 
points,  and  follow  me !" 

The  worthy  Clerk  stared  aghast  at  the  vision;  the  purple 
robe,  the  cymar,  the  coronet, — above  all,  the  smile ;  no,  there 
was  no  mistaking  her  ;  it  was  the  blessed  St.  Bridget  herself! 

And  what  could  have  brought  the  sainted  lady  out  of  her 
warm  shrine  at  such  a  time  of  night  ?  and  on  such  a  night?  for 
it  was  as  dark  as  pitch,  and,  metaphorically  speaking,  "  rained 
cats  and  dogs." 

Emmanuel  could  not  speak,  so  he  looked  the  question. 
"  No  matter  for  that,"  said  the  Saint,  answering  to  his  thought. 
"  No  matter  for  that,  Emmanuel  Saddleton ;  only  follow  me, 
and  you'll  see !" 

The  Clerk  turned  a  wistful  eye  at  the  corner  cupboard. 
"  Oh !  never  mind  the  lantern,  Emmanuel :  you'll  not  want 
it :  but  you  may  bring  a  mattock  and  a  shovel."  As  she  spoke, 
the  beautiful  apparition  held  up  her  delicate  hand.  From  the 
tip  of  each  of  her  long  taper  fingers  issued  a  lambent  flame  of 
such  surpassing  brilliancy  as  would  have  plunged  a  whole  gas 
company  into  despair — it  was  a  "  Hand  of  Glory,"*  such  a  one 
as  tradition  tells  us  yet  burns  in  Rochester  Castle  every  St. 
Mark's  Eve.  Many  are  the  daring  individuals  who  have 
watched  in  Gundulph's  Tower,  hoping  to  find  it,  and  the  treas- 
ure it  guards ; — but  none  of  them  ever  did. 

"  This  way,  Emmanuel !"  and  a  flame  of  peculiar  radiance 

*  One  of  the  uses  to  which  this  mystic  chandelifr  was  put  was  the  protection  of 
secreted  treasure.    Blow  out  all  the  lingers  at  one  puff  and  you  had  the  money. 


A   LEGEND    OF  SHEPPEY.  61 

streamed  from  her  little  finger,  as  it  pointed  to  the  pathway 
leading  to  the  churchyard. 

Saddleton  shouldered  his  tools,  and  followed  in  silence. 

The  cemetery  of  St.  Bridget's  was  some  half-mile  distant  from 
the  Clerk's  domicile,  and  adjoined  a  chapel  dedicated  to  that 
illustrious  lady,  who,  after  leading  but  a  so-so  life,  had  died  in 
the  odor  of  sanctity.  Emmanuel  Saddleton  was  fat  and  scant 
of  breath,  the  mattock  was  heavy,  and  the  S'aint  walked  too 
fast  for  him :  he  paused  to  take  second  wind  at  the  end  of  the 
first  furlong. 

•  "Emmanuel,"  said  the  holy  lady,  good-humoredly,  for  she 
heard  him  puffing ;  "  rest  awhile,  Emmanuel,  and  I'll  tell  you 
what  I  want  with  you." 

Her  auditor  wiped  his  brow  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  and 
looked  all  attention  and  obedience. 

"Emmanuel,"  continued  she,  "what  did  you  and  Father 
Fothergill,  and  the  rest  of  you,  mean  yesterday  by  burying  that 
drowned  man  so  close  to  me  ?  He  died  in  mortal  sin,  Emman- 
uel ;  no  shrift,  no  unction,  no  absolution  :  why  he  might  as  well 
have  been  excommunicated.  He  plagues  me  with  his  grinning, 
and  I  can't  have  any  peace  in  my  shrine.  You  must  howk  him 
up  again,  Emmanuel !" 

"To  be  sure,  madam,— my  lady,— that  is,  your  holiness," 
stammered  Saddleton,  trembling  at  the  thought  of  the  task 
assigned    him.      "To    be    sure,    your    ladyship;    only— that 

is " 

"Emmanuel,"  said  the  Saint,  "you'll  do  my  bidding,  or  it 
would  be  better  you  had !"  and  her  eye  changed  from  a  dove's 
eye  to  that  of  a  hawk,  and  a  flash  came  from  it  as  bright  as  the 
one  from  her  little  finger.  The  Clerk  shook  in  his  shoes  ;  and, 
again  dashing  the  cold  perspiration  from  his  brow,  followed  the 
footsteps  of  his  mysterious  guide. 


The  next  morning  all  Chatham  was  in  an  uproar.  The  Clerk 
of  St.  Bridget's  had  found  himself  at  home  at  daybreak,  seated 
in  his  own  arm-chair,  the  fire  out,  and — the  tankard  of  ale  out 
too!  Who  had  drunk  it?— where  had  he  been?— how  had  he 
got  home?— all  was  a  mystery! — he  remembered  a  "mass  of 


62  GRAY  DOLPHIN. 

tilings,  but  nothing  distinctly ;"  all  was  fog  and  fantasy.  What 
he  could  clearly  recollect  was  that  he  had  dug  up  the  Grinning 
Sailor,  and  that  the  Saint  had  helped  to  throw  him  into  the  river 
again.  All  was  thenceforth  wonderment  and  devotion.  Masses 
were  sung,  tapers  were  kindled,  bells  were  tolled ;  the  monks 
of  St.  Romuald  had  a  solemn  procession,  the  abbot  at  their 
head,  the  sacri.stan  at  their  tail,  and  the  holy  breeches  of  St. 
Thomas  a  Becket  in  the  centre ; — Father  Fothergill  brewed  a 
XXX  puncheon  of  holy  water.  The  rood  of  Gillingham  was 
deserted  ;  the  chapel  of  Rainham  forsaken  ;  every  one  who  had 
a  soul  to  be  saved  flocked  with  his  offering  to  St.  Bridget's 
shrine,  and  Emmanuel  Saddleton  gathered  more  fees  from  the 
promiscuous  piety  of  that  one  week  than  he  had  pocketed  dur- 
ing the  twelve  preceding  months. 

Meanwhile  the  corpse  of  the  ejected  reprobate  oscillated  like 
a  pendulum  between  Sheerness  and  Gillingham  Reach.  Kow 
borne  by  the  Medway  into  the  Western  Swale,  now  carried  by 
the  refluent  tide  back  to  the  vicinity  of  its  old  quarters, — it 
seemed  as  though  the  River  god  and  Neptune  were  amusing 
themselves  with  a  game  of  subaqueous  battledore,  and  had 
chosen  this  unfortunate  carcass  as  a  marine  shuttlecock.  For 
some  time  the  alternation  was  kept  up  with  great  spirit,  till 
Boreas,  interfering  in  the  shape  of  a  stiffish  "  Nor'wester," 
drifted  the  bone  (and. flesh)  of  contention  ashore  on  the  Shur- 
land  domain,  where  it  lay  in  all  the  majesty  of  mud.  It  w^as 
soon  discovered  by  the  retainers,  and  dragged  from  its  oozy  bed, 
grinning  worse  than  ever.  Tidings  of  the  godsend  were  of 
course  carried  instantly  to  the  castle ;  for  the  Baron  was  a  very 
great  man ;  and  if  a  dun  cow  had  flown  across  his  property  un- 
announced by  the  warder,  the  Baron  would  have  kicked  him, 
the  said  warder,  from  the  topmost  battlement  into  the  bottom- 
most ditch, — a  descent  of  peril,  and  one  which  "  Ludwig  the 
Leaper,"  or  the  illustrious  Trenck  himself,  might  well  have 
shrunk  from  encountering. 

"  An't  please  your  lordship "  said  Peter  Periwinkle. 

"  ISTo,  villain !  it  does  not  please  me !"  roared  the  Baron. 

His  lordship  was  deeply  engaged  with  a  peck  of  Feversham 
oysters :  he  doted  on  shellfish,  hated  interruption  at  meals,  and 
had  not  yet  despatched  more  than  twenty  dozen  of  the  "  natives." 


A   LEGEND    OF  SHEPPEY.  63 

"  There's  a  body,  my  lord,  washed  ashore  in  the  lower  creek," 
said  the  seneschal. 

The  Baron  was  going  to  throw  the  shells  at  his  head ;  but 
paused  in  the  act,  and  said,  with  much  dignity, — 

"  Turn  out  the  fellow's  pockets !" 

But  the  defunct  had  before  been  subjected  to  the  double 
scrutiny  of  Father  Fothergill  and  the  Clerk  of  St.  Bridget's. 
It  Avas  ill  gleaning  after  such  hands ;  there  was  not  a  single 
maravedi. 

We  have  already  said  that  Sir  Robert  de  Shurland,  Lord  of 
the  Isle  of  Sheppey,  and  of  many  a  fair  manor  on  the  mainland, 
was  a  man  of  worship.  He  had  rights  of  freewarren,  saccage 
and  sockage,  cuisage  and  jambage,  fosse  and  fork,  infang  theofe 
and  outfaug  theof ;  and  all  waifs  and  strays  belonged  to  him 
in  fee  simple. 

"  Turn  out  his  pockets !"  said  the  knight. 

"An't  please  you,  my  lord,  I  must  say  as  how  they  was 
turned  out  afore,  and  the  devil  a  rap's  left." 

"  Then  bury  the  blackguard !" 

"  Please  your  lordship,  he  has  been  buried  once." 

"  Then  bury  him  again,  and  be !"     The  Baron  bestowed 

a  benediction. 

The  seneschal  bowed  low  as  he  left  the  room,  and  the  Baron 
went  on  with  his  oysters. 

Scarcely  ten  dozen  more  had  vanished  when  Periwinkle  re- 
appeared. 

"  An't  please  you,  my  lord,  Father  Fothergill  says  as  how 
that  it's  the  Grinning  Sailor,  and  he  won't  bury  him  anyhow." 

"  Oh !  he  won't — won't  he  ?"  said  the  Baron.  Can  it  be  won- 
dered at  that  he  called  for  his  boots  ? 

Sir  Robert  de  Shurland,  Lord  of  Shurland  and  Minster,  Baron 
of  Sheppey  in  comitatu  Kent,  was,  as  has  been  before  hinted,  a 
very  great  man.  He  was  also  a  very  little  man  ;  that  is,  he 
was  relatively  great,  and  relatively  little — or  physically  little, 
and  metaphorically  great — like  Sir  Sidney  Smith  and  the  late 
Mr.  Buonaparte.  To  the  frame  of  a  dwarf  he  united  the  soul 
of  a  giant  and  the  valor  of  a  gamecock.  Then,  for  so  small  a 
man,  his  strength  Avas  prodigious  ;  his  fist  would  fell  an  ox,  and 
his  kick — oh !  his  kick  was  tremendous,  and,  when  he  had  his 


64  GRAY  DOLPHIN. 

boots  on,  would — to  use  an  expression  of  his  own,  which  he  had 
picked  up  in  the  holy  wars — would  "send  a  man  from  Jericho 
to  June."  He  was  bull-necked  and  bandy-legged;  his  chest 
was  broad  and  deep,  his  head  large  and  uncommonly  thick,  his 
eyes  a  little  bloodshot,  and  his  nose  retrousse,  with  a  remarkably 
red  tip.  Strictly  speaking,  the  Baron  could  not  be  called  hand- 
some; but  his  tout  ensemble  was  singularly  impressive;  and 
when  he  called  for  his  boots  everybody  trembled,  and  dreaded 
the  worst. 

"  Periwinkle,"  said  the  Baron,  as  he  encased  his  better  leg, 
"  let  the  grave  be  twenty  feet  deep !" 
"  Your  lordship's  command  is  law." 

"  And,  Periwinkle  " — Sir  Robert  stamped  his  left  heel  into 
its  receptacle — "  and,  Periwinkle,  see  that  it  be  wide  enough  to 
hold  not  exceeding  two !" 
"  Ye — ye — yes,  my  lord." 

"  And,  Periwinkle— tell  Father  Fothergill  I  would  fain  speak 
with  his  Reverence." 

"  Ye — ye — yes,  my  lord." 

The  Baron's  beard  was  peaked  :  and  his  moustaches,  stiff  and 
stumpy,  projected  horizontally,  like  those  of  a  Tom  Cat ;  he 
twirled  the  one,  he  stroked  the  other,  he  drew  the  buckle  of  his 
surcingle  a  thought  tighter,  and  strode  down  the  great  staircase 
three  steps  at  a  stride. 

The  vassals  were  assembled  in  the  great  hall  of  Shurland 
Castle ;  every  cheek  was  pale,  every  tongue  was  mute  :  expect- 
ation and  perplexity  were  visible  on  every  brow.  What  would 
his  lordship  do  ?  Were  the  recusant  anybody  else,  gyves  to  the 
heels  and  hemp  to  the  throat  were  but  too  good  for  him  ;  but  it 
was  Father  Fothergill  who  had  said  "  I  won't ;"  and  though  the 
Baron  was  a  very  great  man,  the  Pope  v/as  a  greater,  and  the 
Pope  was  Father  Fothergill's  great  friend — some  people  said  he 
was  his  uncle. 

Father  Fothergill  was  busy  in  the  refectory  trying  conclu- 
sions with  a  venison  pasty,  when  he  received  the  summons  of 
his  patron  to  attend  him  in  the  chapel  cemetery.  Of  course  he 
lost  no  time  in  obeying  it,  for  obedience  was  the  general  rule  in 
Shurland  Castle.  If  anybody  ever  said  "  I  won't,"  it  was  the 
exception ;  and,  like  all  other  exceptions,  only  proved  the  rule 


A   LEGEND    OF  SHEPFEY.  65 

the  stronger.  The  Father  was  a  friar  of  the  Augustine  persua- 
sion ;  a  brotherhood  which,  having  been  planted  in  Kent  some 
few  centuries  earlier,  had  taken  very  kindly  to  the  soil,  and 
overspread  the  county  much  as  hops  did  some  few  centuries 
later.  He  was  plump  and  portly,  a  little  thick-winded,  especi- 
ally after  dinner,  stood  five  feet  four  in  his  sandals,  and  weighed 
hard  upon  eighteen  stone.  He  was,  moreover,  a  personage  of 
singular  piety ;  and  the  iron  girdle,  which,  he  said,  he  wore 
under  his  cassock  to  mortify  withal,  might  have  been  well  mis- 
taken for  the  tire  of  a  cart-wheel.  When  he  arrived.  Sir  Robert 
was  pacing  up  and  down  by  the  side  of  a  newly-opened  grave. 

"Benedicitef  fair  son"  (the  Baron  was  as  brown  as  a  cigar) — 
"  Benedicite  !"  said  the  Chaplain. 

The  Baron  was  too  angry  to  stand  upon  compliment.  "  Bury 
me  that  grinning  caitiff  there !"  quoth  he,  pointing  to  the  de- 
funct. 

"  It  may  not  be,  fair  son,"  said  the  Friar ;  "  he  hath  perished 
without  absolution." 

"  Bury  the  body !"  roared  Sir  Robert. 

"  Water  and  earth  alike  reject  him,"  returned  the  Chaplain ; 
"  holy  St.  Bridget  herself " 

"  Bridget  me  no  Bridgets ! — do  me  thine  office  quickly.  Sir 

Shaveling!  or,  by  the  Piper  that  played  before  Moses " 

The  oath  was  a  fearful  one ;  and  whenever  the  Baron  swore  to 
do  mischiefs  he  was  never  known  to  perjure  himself.  He  was 
playing  with  the  hilt  of  his  sword.  "  Do  me  thine  office,  I  say. 
Give  him  his  passport  to  Heaven." 

"  He  is  already  gone  to  Hell !"  stammered  the  Friar. 

"  Then  do  you  go  after  him !"  thundered  the  Lord  of  Shur- 
land. 

His  sword  half  leaped  from  its  scabbard.  No! — the  tren- 
chant blade,  that  had  cut  Suleiman  Ben  Malek  Ben  Buckskin 
from  helmet  to  chine,  disdained  to  daub  itself  with  the  cerebel- 
lum of  a  miserable  monk  ; — it  leaped  back  again  ; — and  as  the 
Chaplain,  scared  at  its  flash,  turned  him  in  terror,  the  Baron 
gave  him  a  kick ! — one  kick ! — it  was  but  one ! — but  such  a  one ! 
Despite  its  obesity,  up  flew  his  holy  body  in  an  angle  of  forty- 
five  degrees ;  then,  having  reached  its  highest  point  of  elevation, 
sank  headlong  into  the  open  grave  that  yawned  to  receive  it. 
5 


66  GRAY  DOLPHIN. 

If  the  reverend  gentleman  had  possessed  such  a  thing  as  a  neck, 
he  had  infallibly  broken  it !  as  he  did  not,  he  only  dislocated 
his  vertebra — but  that  did  quite  as  well.  He  was  as  dead  as 
ditch-water ! 

"In  with  the  other  rascal!"  said  the  Baron — and  he  was 
obeyed ;  for  there  he  stood  in  his  boots.  Mattock  and  shovel 
made  short  work  of  it;  twenty  feet  of  superincumbent  mold 
pressed  down  alike  the  saint  and  the  sinner.  "  Now  sing  a  re- 
quiem who  list !"  said  the  Baron,  and  his  lordship  went  back  to 
his  oysters. 

The  vassals  at  Castle  Shurland  were  astounded,  or,  as  the 
Seneschal  Hugh  better  expressed  it,  "  perfectly  conglomerated," 
by  this  event.  What !  murder  a  monk  in  the  odor  of  sanctity — 
and  on  consecrated  ground  too !  They  trembled  for  the  health 
of  the  Baron's  soul.  To  the  unsophisticated  many  it  seemed 
that  matters  could  not  have  been  much  worse  had  he  shot  a 
bishop's  coach-horse — all  looked  for  some  signal  judgment. 
The  melancholy  catastrophe  of  their  neighbors  at  Canterbury 
was  yet  rife  in  their  memories :  not  two  centuries  had  elapsed 
since  those  miserable  sinners  had  cut  off  the  tail  of  the  blessed 
St.  Thomas's  mule.  The  tail  of  the  mule,  it  was  well  known, 
had  been  forthwith  af&xed  to  that  of  the  Mayor;  and  rumor 
said  it  had  since  been  hereditary  in  the  corporation.  The  least 
that  could  be  expected  was  that  Sir  Robert  should  have  a  friar 
tacked  on  to  his  for  the  term  of  his  natural  life !  Some  bolder 
spirits  there  were,  'tis  true,  who  viewed  the  matter  in  various 
lights,  according  to  their  different  temperaments  and  disposi- 
tions ;  for  perfect  unanimity  existed  not  even  in  the  good  old 
times.  The  verderer,  roistering  Hob  Roebuck,  swore  roundly, 
"  'Twere  as  good  a  deed  as  eat  to  kick  down  the  chapel  as  well 
as  the  monk."  Hob  had  stood  there  in  a  white  sheet  for  kissing 
Giles  Miller's  daughter.  On  the  other  hand,  Simpkin  Agnew, 
the  bell-ringer,  doubted  if  the  devil's  cellar,  which  runs  under 
the  bottomless  abyss,  were  quite  deep  enough  for  the  delinquent, 
and  speculated  on  the  probability  of  a  hole  being  dug  in  it  for 
his  especial  accommodation.  The  philosophers  and  economists 
thought,  with  Saunders  McBullock,  the  Baron's  bagpiper,  that 
a  "  feckless  monk  more  or  less  was  nae  great  subject  for  a  clam- 
jamphry,"  especially  as  "  the  supply  considerably  exceeded  the 


A   LEGEND    OF  SHEPPET.  67 

demand ;"  while  Maltliouse,  the  tapster,  was  arguing  to  Dame 
Martin  that  a  murder  now  and  then  was  a  seasonable  check  to 
population,  without  which  the  Isle  of  Sheppey  would  in  time 
be  devoured,  like  a  mouldy  cheese,  by  inhabitants  of  its  own 
producing.  Meanwhile,  the  Baron  ate  his  oysters  and  thought 
no  more  of  the  matter. 

But  this  tranquillity  of  his  lordship  was  not  to  last.  A 
couple  of  Saints  had  been  seriously  offended ;  and  -we  have  all 
of  us  read  at  school  that  celestial  minds  are  by  no  means  in- 
sensible to  the  provocations  of  anger.  There  were  those  who 
expected  that  St.  Bridget  would  come  in  person,  and  have  the 
friar  up  again,  as  she  did  the  sailor ;  but  perhaps  her  ladyship 
did  not  care  to  trust  herself  within  the  walls  of  Shurland  Castle. 
To  say  the  truth,  it  was  scarcely  a  decent  house  for  a  female 
Saint  to  be  seen  in.  The  Baron's  gallantries,  since  he  became 
a  widower,  had  been  but  too  notorious  ;  and  her  own  reputation 
was  a  little  blown  upon  in  the  earlier  days  of  her  earthly  pil- 
grimage: then  things  were  so  apt  to  be  misrepresented — in 
short,  she  would  leave  the  whole  affair  to  St.  Austin,  who,  being 
a  gentleman,  could  interfere  with  propriety,  avenge  her  affront 
as  well  as  his  own,  and  leave  no  loophole  for  scandal.  St. 
Austin  himself  seems  to  have  had  his  scruples,  though  of  their 
precise  nature  it  would  be  difficult  to  determine,  for  it  were  idle 
to  suppose  him  at  all  afraid  of  the  Baron's  boots.  Be  this  as  it 
may,  the  mode  which  he  adopted  was  at  once  prudent  and  effi- 
cacious. As  an  ecclesiastic,  he  could  not  well  call  the  Baron 
out — had  his  boots  been  out  of  the  question ;  so  he  resolved  to 
have  recourse  to  the  law.  Instead  of  Shurland  Castle,  there- 
fore, he  repaired  forthwith  to  his  own  magnificent  monastery, 
situate  just  within  the  walls  of  Canterbury,  and  presented  him- 
self in  a  vision  to  its  abbot.  No  one  who  has  ever  visited  that 
ancient  city  can  fail  to  recollect  the  splendid  gateway  which 
terminates  the  vista  of  St.  Paul's  Street,  and  stands  there  yet  in 
all  its  pristine  beauty.  The  tiny  train  of  miniature  artillery 
which  now  adorns  its  battlements  is,  it  is  true,  an  ornament  of 
a  later  date;  and  is  said  to  have  been  added  some  centuries 
after  by  a  learned  but  jealous  proprietor,  for  the  purpose  of 
shooting  any  wiser  man  than  himself  who  might  chance  to  come 
that  way.     Tradition  is  silent  as  to  any  discharge  having  taken 


68  GRAY  DOLPHIN. 

place,  nor  can  the  oldest  inhabitant  of  modern  days  recollect 
any  such  occurrence.*  Here  it  was,  in  a  handsome  chamber, 
immediately  over  the  lofty  archway,  that  the  Superior  of  the 
monastery  lay  buried  in  a  brief  slumber,  snatched  from  his 
accustomed  vigils.  His  mitre — for  he  was  a  mitred  Abbot,  and 
had  a  seat  in  parliament — rested  on  a  table  beside  him  ;  near  it 
stood  a  silver  flagon  of  Gascony  wine,  ready,  no  doubt,  for  the 
pious  uses  of  the  morrow.  Fasting  and  watching  had  made  him 
more  than  usually  somnolent,  than  Avhich  nothing  could  have 
been  better  for  the  purpose  of  the  Saint,  who  now  appeared  to 
him  radiant  in  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow. 

"  Anselm !"  said  the  beatific  vision, — "  Anselm  I  are  you  not  a 
pretty  fellow  to  lie  snoring  there  when  your  brethren  are  being 
knocked  at  head,  and  Mother  Church  herself  is  menaced  ? — It 
is  a  sin  and  a  shame,  Anselm !" 

"  What's  the  matter? — Who  are  you?"  cried  the  Abbot,  rub- 
bing his  eyes,  which  the  celestial  splendor  of  his  visitor  had  set 
a  winking.  "Ave  Maria!  St.  Austin  himself !  Speak,  JJea^is- 
dme  !  what  would  you  with  the  humblest  of  your  votaries  ?" 

"  Anselm !"  said  the  Saint,  "  a  brother  of  our  order,  whose 
soul  Heaven  assoilzie !  hath  been  foully  murdered.  He  hath 
been  ignominiously  kicked  to  the  death,  Anselm ;  and  there  he 
lieth  cheek-by-jowl  with  a  wretched  carcass,  which  our  sister 
Bridget  has  turned  out  of  her  cemetery  for  unseemly  grinning. 
Arouse  thee,  Anselm !" 

"Ay,  so  please  you,  Sandissime !"  said  the  Abbot.  "I  will 
order  forthwith  that  thirty  masses  be  said,  thirty  Paters,  and 
thirty  Aves.'' 

"  Thirty  fools'  heads !"  interrupted  his  patron,  who  was  a  little 
peppery. 

"  I  will  send  for  bell,  book,  and  candle 


"  Send  for  an  inkhorn,  Anselm.  Write  me  now  a  letter  to 
his  Holiness  the  Pope  in  good  round  terms,  and  another  to  the 
Coroner,  and  another  to  the  Sheriff*,  and  seize  me  the  never- 
enough-to-be-auathematized  villain  who  hath  done  this  deed! 
Hang  him  as  high  as  Haman,  Anselm ! — up  with  him ! — down 
with  his  dwelling-place,  root  and  branch,  hearth-stone  and  roof- 

*  Since  the  appearance  of  the  first  edition  of  this  Legend  "the  guns"  have  been 
dismounted.    Rumor  hints  at  some  alarm  on  the  part  of  the  Town  Council. 


A   LEGEND    OF  SHEPPET.  69 

tree, — down  with  it  all,  and  sow  the  site  with  salt  and  saw- 
dust!" 

St.  Austin,  it  will  be  perceived,  was  a  radical  reformer. 

"  Marry  will  I,"  quoth  the  Abbot,  warming  with  the  Saint's 
eloquence ;  "  ay,  marry  will  I,  and  that  instanter.  But  there  is 
one  thing  you  have  forgotten,  most  Beatified — the  name  of  the 
culprit." 

"  Robert  de  Shurland." 

"  The  Lord  of  Sheppey !  Bless  me !"  said  the  Abbot,  cross- 
ing himself,  "  won't  that  be  rather  inconvenient  ?  Sir  Robert 
is  a  bold  baron,  and  a  powerful ;  blows  will  come  and  go,  and 
crowns  will  be  cracked,  and " 

"  What  is  that  to  you,  since  yours  will  not  be  of  the  number?" 

"  Very  true,  Beatissime  ! — I  will  don  me  with  speed,  and  do 
your  bidding." 

"Do  so,  Anselm! — fail  not  to  hang  the  Baron,  burn  his 
castle,  confiscate  his  estate,  and  buy  me  two  large  wax  candles 
for  my  own  particular  shrine  out  of  your  share  of  the  property." 

With  this  solemn  injunction  the  vision  began  to  fade. 

"  One  thing  more !"  cried  the  Abbot,  grasping  his  rosary. 

"  What  is  that  ?"  asked  the  Saint. 

"  0  Beate  Augustine,  ora  pro  nobis .'" 

"Of  course  I  shall,"  said  St.  Austin.  "Pax  vobiscumr — 
and  Abbot  Anselm  was  left  alone. 

Within  an  hour  all  Canterbury  was  in  commotion.  A  friar 
had  been  murdered, — two  friars — ten — twenty ;  a  whole  convent 
had  been  assaulted,  sacked,  burnt, — all  the  monks  had  been 
killed,  and  all  the  nuns  had  been  kissed !  Murder !  fire !  sacri- 
lege I  Never  was  city  in  such  an  uproar.  From  St.  George's 
gate  to  St.  Dunstan's  suburb,  from  the  Donjon  to  the  borough 
of  Staplegate,  all  was  noise  and  hubbub.  "  Where  was  it  ?" — 
"  When  was  it  ?" — "  How  was  it  ?"  The  Mayor  caught  up  his 
chain,  the  Aldermen  donned  their  furred  gowns,  the  Town 
Clerk  put  on  his  spectacles.  "  AVho  was  he  ?"— "  What  was  he  ?" 
— "Where  was  he?" — He  should  be  hanged, — he  should  be 
burned, — he  should  be  broiled, — he  should  be  fried, — he  should 
be  scraped  to  death  with  red-hot  oyster  shells !  "  VTho  was  he  ?" 
— "  What  was  his  name  ?" 

The  Abbot's  Apparitor  drew  forth  his  roll  and  read  aloud  : — 


70  GRAY  DOLPHIN. 

"  Sir  Eobert  de  Shurland,  Knight  banneret,  Baron  of  Shurland 
and  Minster,  and  Lord  of  Sheppey." 

The  Mayor  put  his  chain  in  his  pocket,  the  Aldermen  took 
off  their  gowns,  the  Town  Clerk  put  his  pen  behind  his  ear.  It 
was  a  county  business  altogether : — the  Sheriff  had  better  call 
out  the  posse  comitatus. 

While  saints  and  sinners  were  thus  leaguing  against  him,  the 
Baron  de  Shurland  was  quietly  eating  his  breakftist.  He  had 
passed  a  tranquil  night,  undisturbed  by  dreams  of  cowl  or 
capuchin ;  nor  was  his  appetite  more  affected  than  his  con- 
science. On  the  contrary,  he  sat  rather  longer  over  his  meal 
than  usual :  luncheon  time  came,  and  he  was  ready  as  ever  for 
his  oysters ;  but  scarcely  had  Dame  Martin  opened  his  first  half- 
dozen  when  the  warder's  horn  was  heard  from  the  barbican. 

"Who  the  devil's  that?"  said  Sir  Robert.  "I'm  not  at 
home.  Periwinkle.  I  hate  to  be  disturbed  at  meals,  and  I 
won't  be  at  home  to  anybody." 

"  An't  please  your  lordship,"  answered  the  Seneschal,  "  Paul 
Prior  hath  given  notice  that  there  is  a  body " 

"Another  body!"  roared  the  Baron.  "Am  I  to  be  everlast- 
ingly plagued  with  bodies — no  time  allowed  me  to  swallow  a 
morsel  ?     Throw  it  into  the  moat !" 

"  So  please  you,  my  lord,  it  is  a  body  of  horse, — and — and 
Paul  says  there  is  a  still  larger  body  of  foot  behind  it ;  and  he 
thinks,  my  lord — that  is,  he  does  not  know,  but  he  thinks — and 
we  all  think,  my  lord — that  they  are  coming  to — to  besiege  the 
castle !" 

" Besiege  the  castle !     Who?     What?     What  for?" 

"  Paul  says,  my  lord,  that  he  can  see  the  banner  of  St.  Aus- 
tin, and  the  bleeding  heart  of  Hamo  de  Crevecceur,  the  Abbot's 
chief  vassal ;  and  there  is  John  de  Northwood,  the  sheriff,  with 
his  red  cross  engrailed ;  and  Hever,  and  Leybourne,  and  Heaven 
knows  how  many  more ;  and  they  are  all  coming  on  as  fast  as 
ever  they  can." 

"  Periwinkle,"  said  the  Baron,  "  up  with  the  drawbridge ; 
down  with  the  portcullis.  Bring  me  a  cup  of  canary  and  my 
nightcap.     I  won't  be  bothered  with  them  :  I  shall  go  to  bed." 

"  To  bed,  my  lord !"  cried  Periwinkle,  with  a  look  that  seemed 
to  say,  "He's  crazy !" 


A   LEGEND    OF  SHEPPET.  71 

At  this  moment  the  shrill  tones  of  a  trumpet  were  heard  to 
sound  thrice  from  the  champaign.  It  "svas  the  signal  for  par- 
ley. The  Baron  changed  his  mind :  instead  of  going  to  bed, 
he  went  to  the  ramparts. 

"  Well,  rapscallions  !  and  what  now  ?"  said  the  Baron. 

A  herald,  two  pursuivants,  and  a  trumpeter,  occupied  the 
foreground  of  the  scene ;  behind  them,  some  three  hundred  paces 
off,  upon  a  rising  ground,  was  drawn  up  in  battle  array  the 
main  body  of  the  ecclesiastical  forces. 

"  Hear  you,  Robert  de  Shurland,  Knight,  Baron  of  Shurland 
and  Minster,  and  Lord  of  Sheppey,  and  know  all  men  by  these 
presents,  that  I  do  hereby  attach  you,  the  said  Robert,  of  mur- 
der and  sacrilege,  now  or  of  late  done  and  committed  by  you, 
the  said  Robert,  contrary  to  the  peace  of  our  Sovereign  Lord  the 
King,  his  crown  and  dignity ;  and  I  do  hereby  require  and  charge 
you,  the  said  Robert,  to  forthwith  surrender  and  give  up  your 
own  proper  person,  together  with  the  castle  of  Shurland  afore- 
said, in  order  that  the  same  may  be  duly  dealt  with  according 
to  law.  And  here  standeth  John  de  Northwood,  Esquire,  good 
man  and  true,  sheriff  of  this  his  Majesty's  most  loyal  county  of 
Kent,  to  enforce  the  same,  if  need  be,  with  his  posse  comitaius " 

"  His  what  ?"  said  the  Baron. 

"  His  2>osse  coviltatus,  and " 

"  Go  to  Bath  !"  said  the  Baron. 

A  defiance  so  contemptuous  roused  the  ire  of  the  adverse 
commanders.  A  volley  of  missiles  rattled  about  the  Baron's 
ears.  Xightcaps  avail  little  against  contusions.  He  left  the 
walls  and  returned  to  the  great  hall. 

"  Let  them  pelt  away,"  quoth  the  Baron :  "  there  are  no  win- 
dows to  break,  and  they  can't  get  in."  So  he  took  his  after- 
noon nap,  and  the  siege  went  on. 

Towards  evening  his  lordship  awoke,  and  grew  tired  of  the 
din.  Guy  Pearson,  too,  had  got  a  black  eye  from  a  brickbat, 
and  the  assailants  were  clambering  over  the  outer  wall.  So 
the  Baron  called  for  his  Sunday  hauberk  of  Milan  steel  and 
his  great  two-handed  sword  with  the  terrible  name.  It  was  the 
fashion  in  feudal  times  to  give  names  to  swords :  King  Arthur's 
was  christened  Excalibar;  the  Baron  called  his  Tickletoby, 
and  whenever  he  took  it  in  hand  it  was  no  joke. 


72  GRAY  DOLPHIN. 

"Up  with  the  portcullis!  down  with  the  bridge!"  said  Sir 
Robert ;  and  out  he  sallied,  followed  by  the  tlite  of  his  retain- 
ers. Then  there  was  a  pretty  to-do.  Heads  flew  one  way, 
arms  and  legs  another.  Round  went  Tickletoby ;  and  wher- 
ever it  alighted,  down  came  horse  and  man.  The  Baron  ex- 
celled himself  that  day.  All  that  he  had  done  in  Palestine 
faded  in  the  comparison  ;  he  had  fought  for  fun  there,  but  now 
it  was  for  life  and  lands.  Away  went  John  de  Northwood ; 
away  went  William  of  Hever  and  Roger  of  Leybourne.  Hamo 
de  Crevecoeur,  with  the  church  vassals  and  the  banner  of  St. 
Austin,  had  been  gone  some  time.  The  siege  was  raised,  and 
the  Lord  of  Sheppey  was  left  alone  in  his  glory. 

But,  brave  as  the  Baron  undoubtedly  was,  and  total  as  had 
been  the  defeat  of  his  enemies,  it  cannot  be  supposed  that  La 
Stoccata  W'ould  be  allowed  to  carry  it  away  thus.  It  has  before 
been  hinted  that  Abbot  Ansel m  had  written  to  the  Pope,  and 
Boniface  the  Eighth  j^iqued  himself  on  his  punctuality  as  a 
correspondent  in  all  matters  connected  with  church  discipline. 
He  sent  back  an  answer  by  return  of  post ;  and  by  it  all  Chris- 
tian people  were  strictly  enjoined  to  aid  in  exterminating  the 
offender,  on  pain  of  the  greater  excommunication  in  this  world, 
and  a  million  of  years  of  purgatory  in  the  next.  But  then, 
again,  Boniface  the  Eighth  was  rather  at  a  discount  in  England 
just  then.  He  had  affronted  Longshanks,  as  the  royal  lieges 
had  nicknamed  their  monarch ;  and  Longshanks  had  been 
rather  sharp  upon  the  clergy  in  consequence.  If  the  Baron 
de  Shurland  could  but  get  the  King's  pardon  for  what,  in  his 
cooler  moments,  he  admitted  to  be  a  peccadillo,  he  might  sniffs 
at  the  Pope,  and  bid  him  "  do  his  devilmost," 

Fortune,  who,  as  the  poet  says,  delights  to  favor  the  bold, 
stood  his  friend  on  this  occasion.  Edward  had  been  for  some 
time  collecting  a  large  force  on  the  coast  of  Kent,  to  carry  on 
his  French  Avars  for  the  recovery  of  Guienne ;  he  was  expected 
shortly  to  review  it  in  person ;  but,  then,  the  troops  lay  princi- 
pally in  cantonments  about  the  mouth  of  the  Thames,  and  his 
Majesty  was  to  come  down  by  water.  What  was  to  be  done  ? — 
the  royal  barge  was  in  sight,  and  John  de  Northwood  and 
Hamo  de  Crevecoeur  had  broken  up  all  the  boats  to  boil  their 
camp-kettles.     A  truly  great  mind  is  never  without  resources. 


A   LEGEND    OF  SUEPPET.  73 

"  Bring  me  my  boots  I"  said  the  Baron. 

They  brought  him  his  boots,  and  his  dapple-gray  steed  along 
•with  them.  Such  a  courser !  all  blood  and  bone,  short-backed, 
broad-chested,  and — but  that  he  was  a  little  ewe-necked — fault- 
less in  form  and  figure.  The  Baron  sprang  upon  his  back,  and 
dashed  at  once  into  the  river. 

The  barge  which  carried  Edward  Longshanks  and  his  for- 
tunes had  by  this  time  nearly  reached  the  Nore;  the  stream 
was  broad  and  the  current  strong,  but  Sir  Robert  and  his  steed 
were  almost  as  broad,  and  a  great  deal  stronger.  After  breast- 
ing the  tide  gallantly  for  a  couple  of  miles,  the  knight  was  near 
enough  to  hail  the  steersman.  ' 

"  What  have  we  got  here  ?"  said  the  King.  "  It's  a  mer- 
maid," said  one.  "It's  a  grampus,"  said  another.  "It's  the 
devil,"  said  a  third.  But  they  were  all  wrong;  it  was  only 
Robert  de  Shurland.  "  Grammercy,"  said  the  King,  "that 
fellow  was  never  born  to  be  drowned !" 

It  has  been  said  before  that  the  Baron  had  fought  in  the  Holy 
Wars ;  in  fact,  he  had  accompanied  Longshanks,  when  only  heir 
apparent,  in  his  expedition  twenty-five  years  before,  although 
his  name  is  unaccountably  omitted  by  Sir  Harris  Nicolas  in  his 
list  of  crusaders.  He  had  been  present  at  Acre  when  Amirand 
of  Joppa  stabbed  the  prince  with  a  poisoned  dagger,  and  had 
lent  Princess  Eleanor  his  own  tooth-brush  after  she  had  sucked 
out  the  venom  from  the  wound.  He  had  slain  certain  Saracens, 
contented  himself  with  his  own  plunder,  and  never  dunned  the 
commissariat  for  arrears  of  pay.  Of  course  he  ranked  high  in 
Edward's  good  graces,  and  had  received  the  honor  of  knight- 
hood at  his  iands  on  the  field  of  battle. 

In  one  so  circumstanced  it  cannot  be  supposed  that  such  a 
trifle  as  the  killing  of  a  frowzy  friar  Avould  be  much  resented, 
even  had  he  not  taken  so  bold  a  measure  to  obtain  his  pardon. 
His  petition  was  granted,  of  course,  as  soon  as  asked  ;  and  so  it 
would  have  been  had  the  indictment  drawn  up  by  the  Canter- 
bury town-clerk,  viz.,  "  That  he,  the  said  Robert  de  Shurland, 
etc.,  had  then  and  there,  with  several,  to  wit,  one  thousand, 
pairs  of  boots,  given  sundry,  to  wit,  two  thousand,  kicks,  and 
therewith  and  thereby  killed  divers,  to  wit,  ten  tliousand, 
Austin  Friars,"  been  true  to  the  letter. 


74  GRAY  DOLPHIN. 

Thrice  did  the  gallant  gray  circumnavigate  the  barge,  while 
Robert  de  Winchelsey,  the  chancellor  and  archbishop  to  boot, 
was  making  out,  albeit  with  great  reluctance,  the  royal  pardon. 
The  interval  was  sufficiently  long  to  enable  his  Majesty,  who, 
gracious  as  he  was,  had  always  an  eye  to  business,  just  to  hint 
that  the  gratitude  he  felt  towards  the  Baron  was  not  unmixed 
with  a  lively  sense  of  services  to  come ;  and  that,  if  life  were 
now  spared  him,  common  decency  must  oblige  him  to  make 
himself  useful.  Before  the  archbishop,  who  had  scalded  his 
fingers  with  the  wax  in  affixing  the  great  seal,  had  time  to  take 
them  out  of  his  mouth,  all  was  settled,  and  the  Baron  de  Shur- 
land  had  pledged  himself  to  be  forthwith  in  readiness,  cum,  suis, 
to  accompany  his  liege  lord  to  Guienne. 

With  the  royal  pardon  secured  in  his  vest,  boldly  did  his 
lordship  turn  again  to  the  shore ;  and  as  boldly  did  his  courser 
oppose  his  breadth  of  chest  to  the  stream.  It  was  a  work  of 
no  common  difficulty  or  danger ;  a  steed  of  less  "  mettle  and 
bone"  had  long  since  sunk  in  the  effiart:  as  it  was,  the  Baron's 
boots  were  full  of  water,  and  Gray  Dolphin's  chamfrain  more 
than  once  dipped  beneath  the  wave.  The  convulsive  snorts  of 
the  noble  animal  showed  his  distress ;  each  instant  they  became 
more  loud  and  frequent ;  when  his  hoof  touched  the  strand,  and 
"the  horse  and  his  rider"  stood  once  again  in  safety  on  the 
shore. 

Rapidly  dismounting,  the  Baron  was  loosening  the  girths  of 
his  demi-pique,  to  give  the  panting  animal  breath,  w^hen  he  was 
aware  of  as  ugly  an  old  woman  as  he  had  ever  clapped  eyes 
upon,  peeping  at  him  under  the  horse's  belly. 

"  Make  much  of  your  steed,  Robert  Shurland !  Make  much 
of  your  steed !"  cried  the  hag,  shaking  at  him  her  long  and 
bony  finger.  "  Groom  to  the  hide,  and  corn  to  the  manger ! 
He  has  saved  your  life,  Robert  Shurland,  for  the  nonce ;  but  he 
shall  yet  be  the  means  of  your  losing  it  for  all  that !" 

The  Baron  started:  "What's  that  you  say,  you  old  fagot?" 
He  ran  round  by  his  horse's  tail ;  the  woman  was  gone ! 

The  Baron  paused ;  his  great  soul  was  not  to  be  shaken  by 
trifles  ;  he  looked  around  him,  and  solemnly  ejaculated  the  word 
"  Humbug !"  then,  slinging  the  bridle  across  his  arm,  walked 
slowly  on  in  the  direction  of  the  castle. 


A   LEGEND    OF  SHEPPEY.  75 

The  appearance,  and  still  more  the  disappearance,  of  the 
crone  had,  however,  made  an  impression ;  every  step  he  took  he 
became  more  thoughtful.  "  'Twould  be  deuced  provoking, 
though,  if  he  should  break  my  neck  after  all,"  He  turned  and 
gazed  at  Dolphin  with  the  scrutinizing  eye  of  a  veterinary  sur- 
geon.    "  I'll  be  shot  if  he  is  not  groggy !"  said  the  Baron. 

With  his  lordshiiD,  like  another  great  commander,  "  Once  to 
be  in  doubt,  was  once  to  be  resolved  :"  it  would  never  do  to  go  to 
the  wars  on  a  rickety  prad.  He  dropped  the  rein,  drew  forth 
Tickletoby,  and,  as  the  enfranchised  Dolphin,  good  easy  horse, 
stretched  out  his  ewe-neck  to  the  herbage,  struck  off  his  head 
at  a  single  blow.  "  There,  you  lying  old  beldame !"  said  the 
Baron ;  "  now  take  him  away  to  the  knacker's." 


Three  years  were  come  and  gone.  King  Edward's  French 
wars  were  over ;  both  parties  having  fought  till  they  came  to  a 
stand-still,  shook  hands,  and  the  quarrel,  as  usual,  was  patched 
up  by  a  royal  marriage.  This  happy  event  gave  his  Majesty 
leisure  to  turn  his  attention  to  Scotland,  where  things,  through 
the  intervention  of  William  Wallace,  were  looking  rather 
queerish.  As  his  reconciliation  with  Philip  now  allowed  of  his 
fighting  the  Scotch  in  peace  and  quietness,  the  monarch  lost  no 
time  in  marching  his  long  legs  across  the  border,  and  the  short 
ones  of  the  Baron  followed  him  of  course.  At  Falkirk,  Tickle- 
toby was  in  great  request ;  and  in  the  year  following,  we  find  a 
contemporary  poet  hinting  at  his  master's  prowess  under  the 
"walls  of  Caerlaverock — 

©iitc  vxs  fu  at^imfnf? 
3Li  iofau  3Ro^trt  irt  SIburlanlJ 
?ltt  feant  5foit  mx  It  tfifbal 
Nt  stmilnit  \amt  iu  somtilU. 

A  quatrain  which  Mr.  Simpkinson  translates, 

"  With  them  was  marching 
The  good  Robert  de  Shurland, 
Who,  when  seated  on  horseback. 
Does  not  resemble  a  man  asleep !" 

So  thoroughly  awake,  indeed,  does  he  seem  to  have  proved 


76  GRAY  DOLPHIN. 

himself,  that  the  bard  subsequently  exclaims  in  an  ecstasy  of 
admiration, 

Si  h  tstoi'e  urtt  puttlttte 
3i  It  Ijonrit  tcur  tt  tots 
giant  ist  it  lu  ions  li  xttoxs. 

"  If  I  were  a  young  maiden, 
I  would  give  my  heart  and  person, 
So  great  is  his  fame  I" 

Fortunately  the  poet  was  a  tough  old  monk  of  Exeter ;  since 
such  a  present  to  a  nobleman,  now  in  his  grand  climacteric, 
would  hardly  have  been  worth  the  carriage.  With  the  reduc- 
tion of  this  stronghold  of  the  Maxwells  seem  to  have  concluded 
the  Baron's  military  services ;  as  on  the  very  first  day  of  the 
fourteenth  century  we  find  him  once  more  landed  on  his  native 
shore,  and  marching,  with  such  of  his  retainers  as  the  wars  had 
left  him,  towards  the  hospitable  shelter  of  Shurland  Castle.  It 
was  then,  upon  that  very  beach,  some  hundred  yards  distant 
from  high-water  mark,  that  his  eye  fell  upon  something  like  an 
ugly  old  woman  in  a  red  cloak.  She  was  seated  on  what  seemed 
to  be  a  large  stone,  in  an  interesting  attitude,  with  her  elbows 
resting  upon  her  knees,  and  her  chin  upon  her  thumbs.  The 
Baron  started :  the  remembrance  of  his  interview  with  a  similar 
personage  in  the  same  place,  some  three  years  since,  flashed 
upon  his  recollection.  He  rushed  towards  the  spot,  but  the 
form  was  gone ; — nothing  remained  but  the  seat  it  had  appeared 
to  occupy.  This,  on  examination,  turned  out  to  be  no  stone, 
but  the  whitened  skull  of  a  dead  horse!  A  tender  remem- 
brance of  the  deceased  Gray  Dolphin  shot  a  momentary  pang 
into  the  Baron's  bosom ;  he  drew  the  back  of  his  hand  across 
his  face ;  the  thought  of  the  hag's  prediction  in  an  instant  rose, 
and  banished  all  softer  emotions.  In  utter  contempt  of  his  own 
weakness,  yet  with  a  tremor  that  deprived  his  redoubtable  kick 
of  half  its  wonted  force,  he  spurned  the  relic  with  his  foot. 
One  word  alone  issued  from  his  lips,  elucidatory  of  what  was 
passing  in  his  mind — it  long  remained  imprinted  on  the  mem- 
ory of  his  faithful  followers — that  word  was  "Gammon !"  The 
skull  bounded  across  the  beach  till  it  reached  the  very  margin 
of  the  stream ; — one  instant  more  and  it  would  be  engulfed 
for  ever.     At  that  moment  a  loud  "Ha!  ha!  ha!"  was  dis- 


A   LEGEND    OF  SHEPPEY.  77 

tinctly  heard  by  the  whole  train  to  issue  from  its  bleached  and 
toothless  jaws :  it  sank  beneath  the  flood  in  a  horse  laugh. 

Meanwhile  Sir  Robert  de  Shurland  felt  an  odd  sort  of  sensa- 
tion in  his  right  foot.  His  boots  had  suffered  in  the  wars.  Great 
pains  had  been  taken  for  their  preservation.  They  had  been 
"soled"  and  "heeled"  more  than  once; — had  they  been"  go- 
loshed,"  their  owner  might  have  defied  Fate !  Well  has  it  been 
said  that  "  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  trifle."  A  nobleman's 
life  depended  upon  a  question  of  ninepence. 

The  Baron  marched  on ;  the  uneasiness  in  his  foot  increased. 
He  plucked  oflT  his  boot ; — a  horse's  tooth  was  sticking  in  his 
great  toe ! 

The  result  may  be  anticipated.  Lame  as  he  was,  his  lordship, 
with  characteristic  decision,  would  hobble  on  to  Shurland  ;  his 
walk  increased  the  inflammation ;  a  flagon  of  aqua  vita  did  not 
mend  matters.  He  was  in  a  high  fever ;  he  took  to  his  bed. 
Next  morning  the  toe  presented  the  appearance  of  a  Bedford.- 
shire  carrot ;  by  dinner-time  it  had  deepened  to  a  beet-root ;  and 
when  Bargrave,  the  leech,  at  last  sliced  it  off",  the  gangrene  was 
too  confirmed  to  admit  of  remedy.  Dame  Martin  thought  it 
high  time  to  send  for  Miss  Margaret,  who,  ever  since  her 
mother's  death,  had  been  living  with  her  maternal  aunt,  the 
abbess,  in  the  Ursuline  convent  at  Greenwich.  The  young  lady 
came,  and  with  her  came  one  Master  Ingoldsby,  her  cousin- 
german  by  the  mother's  side ;  but  the  Baron  was  too  far  gone 
in  the  dead-thraw  to  recognize  either.  He  died  as  he  lived, 
unconquered  and  unconquerable.     His  last  words  were — "  Tell 

the  old  hag  she  may  go  to ."     Whither  remains  a  secret. 

He  expired  without  fully  articulating  the  place  of  her  destina- 
tion. 

But  who  and  what  was  the  crone  who  prophesied  the  catas- 
trophe ?  Ay,  "  that  is  the  mystery  of  this  wonderful  history." 
Some  say  it  was  Dame  Fothergill,  the  late  confessor's  mamma ; 
others,  St.  Bridget  herself;  others  thought  it  was  nobody  at  all, 
but  only  a  phantom  conjured  up  by  conscience.  As  we  do  not 
knoAV,  we  decline  giving  an  opinion. 

And  what  became  of  the  Clerk  of  Chatham  ? — Mr.  Simpkin- 
son  avers  that  he  lived  to  a  good  old  age,  and  was  at  last  hanged 
by  Jack  Cade,  with  his  inkhorn  about  his  neck,  for  "  setting 


78  GRAY  DOLPHIN. 

boys  copies."  In  support  of  this  he  adduces  his  name  "  Em- 
manuel," and  refers  to  the  historian  Shakspeare.  Mr.  Peters, 
on  the  contrary,  considers  this  to  be  what  he  calls  one  of  Mr. 
Simpkinson's  "  Anacreonisms,"  inasmuch  as,  at  the  introduction 
of  Mr.  Cade's  reform  measure,  the  Clerk,  if  alive,  would  have 
been  hard  upon  two  hundred  years  old.  The  probability  is  that 
the  unfortunate  alluded  to  was  his  great-grandson. 

Margaret  Shurland  in  due  course  became  Margaret  Ingoldsby : 
her  portrait  still  hangs  in  the  gallery  at  Tappington.  The  feat- 
ures are  handsome,  but  shrewish,  betraying,  as  it  were,  a  touch 
of  the  old  Baron's  temperament ;  but  we  never  could  learn  that 
she  actually  kicked  her  husband.  She  brought  him  a  very 
pretty  fortune  in  chains,  owches,  and  Saracen  ear-rings;  the 
barony,  being  a  male  fief,  reverted  to  the  Crown. 

In  the  abbey-churcTi  at  Minster  may  yet  be  seen  the  tomb  of 
a  recumbent  w'arrior,  clad  in  the  chain-mail  of  the  thirteenth 
century.*  His  hands  are  clasped  in  prayer ;  his  legs,  crossed 
in  that  position  so  prized  by  Templars  in  ancient  and  tailors  in 
modern  days,  bespeak  him  a  soldier  of  the  faith  in  Palestine. 
Close  behind  his  dexter  calf  lies,  sculptured  in  bold  relief,  a 
horse's  head :  and  a  respectable  elderly  lady,  as  she  shows  the 
monument,  fails  not  to  read  her  auditors  a  fine  moral  lesson  on 
the  sin  of  ingratitude,  or  to  claim  a  sympathizing  tear  to  the 
memory  of  poor  "  Gray  Dolphin !" 

*  Subsequent  to  the  first  appearance  of  the  foregoing  narrative,  the  tomb  alluded  to 
has  been  opened  during  the  course  of  certain  repairs  which  the  church  has  undergone. 
Mr.  Simpkinson,  who  was  present  at  the  exhumation  of  the  body  within,  and  has  en- 
riched his  collection  with  three  of  its  grinders,  says  the  bones  of  one  of  the  great  toes 
were  wanting.  He  speaks  in  terms  of  great  admiration  at  the  thickness  of  the  skull, 
and  la  of  opinion  that  the  skeleton  is  that  of  a  great  patriot  much  addicted  to  Lundy- 
foot. 


THE   GHOST.  79 

It  is  on  my  own  personal  reminiscences  that  I  draw  for  the 
following  story :  the  scene  of  its  leading  event  was  most  familiar 
to  me  in  early  life.  If  the  principal  actor  in  it  be  yet  liviug, 
he  must  have  reached  a  very  advanced  age.  He  was  often 
at  the  Hall,  in  my  infancy,  on  professional  visits.  It  is,  how- 
ever, only  from  those  who  "  prated  of  his  whereabouts  "  that  I 
learned  the  history  of  this  adventure  with 


THERE  stands  a  City, — neither  large  nor  small, — 
Its  air  and  situation  sweet  and  pretty ; 
It  matters  very  little — if  at  all — 

Whether  its  denizens  are  dull  or  witty, 
Whether  the  ladies  there  are  short  or  tall, 

Brunettes  or  blondes,  only,  there  stands  a  city ! — 
Perhaps  'tis  also  requisite  to  minute 
That  there's  a  Castle  and  a  Cobbler  in  it. 

A  fair  Cathedral,  too,  the  story  goes, 

And  kings  and  heroes  lie  entombed  within  her ; 

There  pious  Saints  in  marble  pomp  repose, 

Whose  shrines  are  worn  by  knees  of  many  a  sinner  ; 

There,  too,  full  many  an  Aldermanic  nose 
Rolled  its  loud  diapason  after  dinner ; 

And  there  stood  high  the  holy  sconce  of  Becket, 

— Till  four  assassins  came  from  France  to  crack  it. 

The  Castle  was  a  huge  and  antique  mound. 
Proof  against  all  th'  artillery  of  the  quiver, 

Ere  those  abominable  guns  Avere  found. 

To  send  cold  lead  through  gallant  warrior's  liver. 

It  stands  upon  a  gently  rising  ground. 
Sloping  down  gradually  to  the  river, 

Resembling  (to  compare  great  things  with  smaller) 

A  well-scooped,  mouldy  Stilton  cheese — but  taller. 


80  THE   OnOST. 

The  Keep,  I  find,  's  been  sadly  altered  lately, 

And  'stead  of  mail-clad  knights,  of  honor  jealous, 

In  martial  panoply  so  grand  and  stately, 

Its  walls  are  filled  with  money-making  fellows, 

And  stuflTed,  unless  I'm  misinformed  greatly. 

With  leaden  pipes,  and  coke,  and  coals,  and  bellows ; 

In  short,  so  great  a  change  has  come  to  pass, 

'Tis  now  a  manufactory  of  Gas. 

But  to  my  tale. — Before  this  profanation, 
And  ere  its  ancient  glories  were  cut  short  all, 

A  poor  hard-working  Cobbler  took  his  station 
In  a  small  house,  just  opposite  the  portal ; 

His  birth,  his  parentage,  and  education, 

I  know  but  little  of— a  strange,  odd  mortal ; 

His  aspect,  air,  and  gait,  were  all  ridiculous ; 

His  name  was  Mason — he'd  been  christened  Nicholas. 

Nick  had  a  wife  possessed  of  many  a  charm, 
And  of  the  Lady  Huntingdon  persuasion ; 

But,  spite  of  all  her  piety,  her  arm 

She'd  sometimes  exercise  when  in  a  passion ; 

And,  being  of  a  temper  somewhat  warm, 

Would  now  and  then  seize,  upon  small  occasion, 

A  stick,  or  stool,  or  anything  that  round  did  lie. 

And  baste  her  lord  and  master  most  confoundedly. 

No  matter ! — 'tis  a  thing  that's  not  uncommon, 

'Tis  what  we  all  have  heard  and  most  have  read  of— 

I  mean  a  bruising,  pugilistic  woman. 
Such  as  I  own  I  entertain  a  dread  of, 

— And  so  did  Nick,  whom  sometimes  there  would  come  on 
A  sort  of  fear  his  Spouse  might  knock  his  head  off. 

Demolish  half  his  teeth,  or  drive  a  rib  in. 

She  shone  so  much  in  "  facers  "  and  in  "  fibbing." 

"  There's  time  and  place  for  all  things,"  said  a  sage 
(King  Solomon,  I  think),  and  this  I  can  say, 

Within  a  well-roped  ring,  or  on  a  stage. 
Boxing  may  be  a  very  pretty  Fancy, 


THE  GHOST.  81 

When  Messrs.  Burke  or  Bendigo  engage ; 

— 'Tis  not  so  well  in  Susan,  Jane,  or  Nancy : — 
To  get  well  milled  by  any  one's  an  evil, 
But  by  a  lady — 'tis  the  very  devil. 

And  so  thought  Nicholas,  whose  only  trouble 

(At  least  his  worst)  was  this  his  rib's  propensity  ; 

For  sometimes  from  the  alehouse  he  would  hobble. 
His  senses  lost  in  a  sublime  immensity 

Of  cogitation ;  then  he  couldn't  cobble — 

And  then  his  wife  would  often  try  the  density 

Of  his  poor  skull,  and  strike  with  all  her  might, 

As  fast  as  kitchen-wenches  strike  a  light. 

Mason,  meek  soul,  who  ever  hated  strife. 

Of  this  same  striking  had  a  morbid  dread ; 
He  hated  it  like  poison — or  his  wife — 

A  vast  antipathy ! — but  so  he  said ; 
And  very  often,  for  a  quiet  life, 

On  these  occasions  he'd  sneak  up  to  bed, 
Grope  darkling  in,  and,  soon  as  at  the  door 
He  heard  his  lady,  he'd  pretend  to  snore. 

One  night,  then,  ever  partial  to  society, 

Nick,  with  a  friend  (another  jovial  fellow), 
Went  to  a  Club — I  should  have  said  Society — 

At  the  "  City  Arms,"  once  called  the  Porto  Bello ; 
A  Spouting  party,  which,  though  some  decry  it,  I 

Consider  no  bad  lounge  when  one  is  mellow ; 
There  they  discuss  the  tax  on  salt  and  leather. 
And  change  of  ministers  and  change  of  weather. 

In  short,  it  was  a  kind  of  British  Forum, 

Like  John  Gale  Jones's,  erst  in  Piccadilly, 
Only  they  managed  things  with  more  decorum, 

And  the  orations  were  not  quite  so  silly ; 
Far  different  questions,  too,  would  come  before  'em, 

Not  always  politics,  which,  will  ye  nill  ye. 
Their  London  prototypes  were  always  willing 
To  give  one  quantum  suff.  of — for  a  shilling. 
6 


82  THE   GHOST. 

It  more  resembled  one  of  later  date, 

And  tenfold  talent,  as  I'm  told,  in  Bow  Street, 

Where  kindlier-natured  souls  do  congregate ; 

And,  though  there  are  who  deem  that  same  a  low  street. 

Yet,  I'm  assured,  for  frolicsome  debate 

And  genuine  humor,  it's  surpassed  by  no  street, 

When  the  "  Chief  Baron  "  enters,  and  assumes 

To  "rule"  o'er  mimic  "Thesigers"  and  "Broughams." 

Here  they  would  oft  forget  their  Rulers'  faults. 
And  waste  in  ancient  lore  the  midnight  taper ; 

Inquire  if  Orpheus  first  produced  the  Waltz, 
How  Gaslights  difier  from  the  Delphic  Vapor, 

Whether  Hippocrates  gave  Glauber's  Salts, 

And  what  the  Romans  wrote  on  ere  they'd  paper. 

This  night  the  subject  of  their  disquisitions 

Was  Ghosts,  Hobgoblins,  Sprites,  and  Apparitions. 

One  learned  gentleman,  "  a  sage,  grave  man," 

Talked  of  the  Ghost  in  Hamlet,  "  sheathed  in  steel ;" 

His  well-read  friend,  who  next  to  speak  began, 
Said  "  That  was  Poetry,  and  nothing  real ;" 

A  third,  of  more  extensive  learning,  ran 

To  Sir  George  Villiers'  Ghost,  and  Mrs.  Veal,— 

Of  sheeted  spectres  spoke  with  shortened  breath. 

And  thrice  he  quoted  "  Drelincourt  on  Death." 

Nick  smoked  and  smoked,  and  trembled  as  he  heard 
The  point  discussed,  and  all  they  said  upon  it : 

How,  frequently,  some  murdered  man  appeared, 
To  tell  his  wife  and  children  who  had  done  it ; 

Or  how  a  Miser's  ghost,  with  grisly  beard. 

And  pale  lean  visage,  in  an  old  Scotch  bonnet. 

Wandered  about  to  watch  his  buried  money ! 

When  all  at  once  Nick  heard  the  clock  strike  One, — he 

Sprang  from  his  seat,  not  doubting  but  a  lecture 
Impended  from  his  fond  and  faithful  She ; 

Nor  could  he  well  to  pardon  him  expect  her, 
For  he  had  promised  to  "  be  home  to  tea  ;" 


THE  GHOST.  83 

But  having  luckily  the  key  o'  the  back  door, 

He  fondly  hoped  that,  unperceived,  he 
Might  creep  up  stairs  again,  pretend  to  doze, 
And  hoax  his  spouse  with  music  from  his  nose. 

Vain,  fruitless  hope  1 — The  wearied  sentinel 

At  eve  may  overlook  the  crouching  foe, 
Till,  ere  his  hand  can  sound  the  alarum-bell, 

He  sinks  beneath  the  unexpected  blow ; 
Before  the  whiskers  of  Grimalkin  fell. 

When  slumbering  on  her  post,  the  mouse  may  go — 
But  woman,  wakeful  woman,  's  never  weary, 
— Above  all,  when  she  waits  to  thump  her  deary. 

Soon  Mrs.  Mason  heard  the  well-known  tread ; 

She  heard  the  key  slow  creaking  in  the  door, 
Spied,  through  the  gloom  obscure,  towards  the  bed 

Nick  creeping  soft,  as  oft  he  had  crept  before ; 
When,  bang,  she  threw  a  something  at  his  head. 

And  Nick  at  once  lay  prostrate  on  the  floor ; 
While  she  exclaimed,  with  her  indignant  face  on — 
"  How  dare  you  use  your  wife  so,  Mr.  Mason  ?" 

Spare  we  to  tell  how  fiercely  she  debated, 

Especially  the  length  of  her  oration — 
Spare  we  to  tell  how  Nick  expostulated, 

Roused  by  the  bump  into  a  good  set  passion, 
So  great  that  more  than  once  he  execrated. 

Ere  he  crawled  into  bed  in  his  usual  fashion ; 
— The  Muses  hate  brawls ;  suffice  it  then  to  say, 
He  ducked  below  the  clothes — and  there  he  lay  I 

'Twas  now  the  very  witching  time  of  night, 

When  churchyards  groan,  and  graves  give  up  their  dead, 
And  many  a  mischievous,  enfranchised  Sprite 

Had  long  since  burst  his  bonds  of  stone  or  lead, 
And  hurried  off,  with  schoolboy-like  delight. 

To  play  his  pranks  near  some  poor  wretch's  bed, 
Sleeping,  perhaps  serenely  as  a  porpoise. 
Nor  dreaming  of  this  fiendish  Habeas  Corpus. 


84  THE   GHOST. 

Not  so  our  Nicholas :  his  meditations 

Still  to  the  same  tremendous  theme  recurred, 

The  same  dread  subject  of  the  dark  narrations, 
Which,  backed  with  such  authority,  he'd  heard : 

Lost  in  his  own  horrific  contemplations. 

He  pondered  o'er  each  well-remembered  word ; 

When  at  the  bed's  foot,  close  beside  the  post, 

He  verily  believed  he  saw — a  Ghost ! 

Plain,  and  more  plain,  the  unsubstantial  Sprite 
To  his  astonished  gaze  each  moment  grew ; 

Ghastly  and  gaunt,  it  reared  its  shadowy  height, 
Of  more  than  mortal  seeming  to  the  view. 

And  round  its  long,  thin,  bony  fingers  drew 
A  tattei-ed  winding-sheet,  of  course  all  white ; — 

The  moon  that  moment  peeping  through  a  cloud, 

Nick  very  plainly  saw  it  through  the  shroud  ! 

And  now  those  matted  locks,  which  never  yet 
Had  yielded  to  the  comb's  unkind  divorce, 

Their  long-contracted  amity  forget. 
And  spring  asunder  with  elastic  force ; 

Nay,  e'en  the  very  cap,  of  texture  coarse, 

Whose  ruby  cincture  crowned  that  brow  of  jet. 

Uprose  in  agony — the  Gorgon's  head 

Was  but  a  type  of  Nick's  up-squatting  in  the  bed. 

From  every  pore  distilled  a  clammy  dew. 

Quaked  every  limb — the  candle,  too,  no  doubt, 

Ea  regie,  would  have  burnt  extremely  blue. 
But  Nick  unluckily  had  put  it  out ; 

And  he,  though  naturally  bold  and  stout. 
In  short,  was  in  a  most  tremendous  stew ; — 

The  room  was  filled  with  a  sulphureous  smell, 

But  where  that  came  from  Mason  could  not  tell. 

All  motionless  the  Spectre  stood — and  now 
Its  rev'rend  form  more  clearly  shone  confest. 

From  the  pale  cheek  a  beard  of  purest  snow 
Descended  o'er  its  venerable  breast ; 


THE  GHOST.  85 

The  tliln  gray  hairs,  that  crowned  its  furrowed  brow, 

Told  of  years  long  gone  by. — An  awful  guest 
It  stood,  and  with  an  action  of  command, 
Beckoned  the  Cobbler  with  its  wan  right  hand. 

"  Whence  and  what  art  thou,  Execrable  Shape  ?" 

Nick  might  have  cried,  could  he  have  found  a  tongue, 

But  his  distended  jaws  could  only  gape. 
And  not  a  sound  upon  the  welkin  rung ; 

His  gooseberry  orbs  seemed  as  they  would  have  sprung 
Forth  from  their  sockets — like  a  frightened  Ape 

He  sat  upon  his  haunches,  bolt  upright, 

And  shook,  and  grinned,  and  chattered  with  affright. 

And  still  the  shadowy  finger,  long  and  lean, 
Now  beckoned  Nick,  now  pointed  to  the  door ; 

And  many  an  ireful  glance,  and  frown,  between. 
The  angry  visage  of  the  Phantom  wore, 

As  if  quite  vexed  that  Nick  would  do  no  more 

Than  stare,  without  e'en  asking,  "  What  d'  ye  mean  ?" 

Because,  as  we  are  told — a  sad  old  joke,  too — 

Ghosts,  like  the  ladies,  "  never  speak  till  spoke  to." 

Cowards,  'tis  said,  in  certain  situations. 

Derive  a  sort  of  courage  from  despair, 
And  then  perform,  from  downright  desperation, 

Much  more  than  many  a  bolder  man  would  dare. 
Nick  saw  the  Ghost  was  getting  in  a  passion. 

And  therefore,  groping  till  he  found  the  chair, 
Seized  on  his  awl,  crept  softly  out  of  bed. 
And  followed,  quaking,  where  the  Spectre  led. 

And  down  the  winding  stair,  with  noiseless  tread, 

The  tenant  of  the  tomb  passed  slowly  on ; 
Each  mazy  turning  of  the  humble  shed 

Seemed  to  his  step  at  once  familiar  grown, 
So  safe  and  sure  the  labyrinth  did  he  tread 

As  though  the  domicile  had  been  his  own. 
Though  Nick  himself,  in  passing  through  the  shop, 
Had  almost  broke  his  nose  against  the  mop. 


86  THE   GHOST. 

Despite  its  wooden  bolt,  with  jarring  sound 

The  door  upon  its  hinges  open  flew  ; 
And  forth  the  Spirit  issued — yet  around 

It  turned,  as  if  its  follower's  fears  it  knew, 
And,  once  more  beckoning,  pointed  to  the  mound, 

The  antique  Keep,  on  which  the  bright  moon  threw 
"With  such  effulgence  her  mild  silvery  gleam, 
The  visionary  form  seemed  melting  in  her  beam. 

Beneath  a  pond'rous  archway's  sombre  shade. 
Where  once  the  huge  portcullis  swung  sublime, 

'Mid  ivied  battlements  in  ruin  laid, 
Sole,  sad  memorials  of  the  olden  time. 

The  Phantom  held  its  way — and  though  afraid 
Even  of  the  owls  that  sung  their  vesper  chime, 

Pale  Nicholas  pursued,  its  steps  attending, 

And  wondering  what  on  earth  it  all  would  end  in. 

Within  the  mouldering  fabric's  deep  recess 

At  length  they  reached  a  court  obscure  and  lone — 

It  seemed  a  drear  and  desolate  wilderness. 
The  blackened  walls  with  ivy  all  o'ergrown ; 

The  night-bird  shrieked  her  note  of  wild  distress. 
Disturbed  upon  her  solitary  throne. 

As  though  indignant  mortal  step  should  dare. 

So  led,  at  such  an  hour,  to  venture  there ! 

— The  apparition  paused,  and  would  have  spoke, 
Pointing  to  what  Nick  thought  an  iron  ring, 

But  then  a  neighboring  chanticleer  awoke. 
And  loudly  'gan  his  early  matins  sing ; 

And  then  "  it  started  like  a  guilty  thing," 
As  that  shrill  clarion  the  silence  broke. 

— ^We  know  how  much  dead  gentlefolks  eschew 

The  appalling  sound  of  "  Cock-a-doodle-do !" 

The  vision  was  no  more — and  Nick  alone — 

"  His  streamers  waving  "  in  the  midnight  wind. 

Which  through  the  ruins  ceased  not  to  groan ; 

— His  garment,  too,  was  somewhat  short  behind, — 


THE   GHOST.  87 

And,  worst  of  all,  he  knew  not  where  to  find 

The  rino-, — which  made  him  most  his  fate  bemoan — 
The  iron  ring, — no  doubt  of  some  trap-door, 
'Neath  which  the  old  dead  Miser  kept  his  store. 

"  What's  to  be  done?"  he  cried  ;  "  'Twere  vain  to  stay 

Here  in  the  dark  without  a  single  clue — 
Oh,  for  a  candle  now,  or  moonlight  ray ! 

'Fore  George,  I'm  vastly  puzzled  what  to  do  " 
(Then  clapped  his  hand  behind),—"  'Tis  chilly,  too — 

I'll  mark  the  spot,  and  come  again  by  day. 
What  can  I  mark  it  by  ? — Oh,  here's  the  wall — 
The  mortar's  yielding — here  I'll  stick  my  awl !"  * 

Then  rose  from  earth  to  sky  a  withering  shriek, 

A  loud,  a  long-protracted  note  of  woe. 
Such  as  when  tempests  roar,  and  timbers  creak, 

And  o'er  the  side  the  masts  in  thunder  go ; 
While  on  the  deck  resistless  billows  break, 
■  And  drag  their  victims  to  the  gulfs  below  ; — 
Such  was  the  scream  when,  for  the  want  of  candle, 
Nick  Mason  drove  his  awl  in  up  to  the  handle. 

Scared  by  his  Lady's  heart-appalling  cry, 

Vanished  at  once  poor  jSIason's  golden  dream— 

For  dream  it  was ; — and  all  his  visions  high, 

Of  wealth  and  grandeur,  fled  before  that  scream — 

And  still  he  listens  with  averted  eye, 

When  gibing  neighbors  make  "  the  Ghost"  their  theme  ; 

While  ever  from  that  hour  they  all  declare 

That  Mrs.  JNIason  used  a  cushion  in  her  chair ! 


88  THE   CYNOTAPH. 

Confound  not,  I  beseech  thee,  reader,  the  subject  of  the  fol- 
lowing monody  with  the  hapless  hero  of  the  tea-urn,  Cupid,  of 
"  Yow-Yow-ing "  memory.  Tray  was  an  attached  favorite  of 
many  years'  standing.  Most  people  worth  loving  have  had  a 
friend  of  this  kind ;  Lord  Byron  says  he  "  never  had  but  one, 
and  here  he  (the  dog,  not  the  nobleman)  lies  I" 

Poor  Tray  cliarmant ! 
Poor  Tray  de  mon  ami ! 

Dog-bury  and  Vergera. 

OH !  where  shall  I  bury  my  poor  dog  Tray, 
Now  his  fleeting  breath  has  passed  away  ? — 
Seventeen  years,  I  can  venture  to  say, 
Have  I  seen  him  gambol,  and  frolic,  and  play, 
Evermore  happy,  and  frisky,  and  gay. 
As  though  every  one  of  his  months  was  May, 
And  the  whole  of  his  life  one  long  holiday — 
Now  he's  a  lifeless  lump  of  clay. 
Oh !  where  shall  I  bury  my  faithful  Tray  ? 

I  am  almost  tempted  to  think  it  hard 

That  it  may  not  be  there,  in  yon  sunny  churchyard, 

Where  the  green  willows  wave     O'er  the  peaceful  grave, 
"Which  holds  all  that  once  was  honest  and  brave, 
Kind,  and  courteous,  and  faithful,  and  true ; 
Qualities,  Tray,  that  were  found  in  you. 
But  it  may  not  be — yon  sacred  ground. 
By  holiest  feelings  fenced  around, 
May  ne'er  within  its  hallowed  bound 
Receive  the  dust  of  a  soulless  hound. 

I  would  not  place  him  in  yonder  fane. 
Where  the  midday  sun  through  the  storied  pane 
Throws  on  the  pavement  a  crimson  stain ; 
Where  the  banners  of  chivalry  heavily  swing 
O'er  the  pinnacled  tomb  of  the  Warrior  King, 
With  helmet  and  shield,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 


TEE   CTNOTAPH.  89 

No ! — come  what  may,  My  gentle  Tray 
Shan't  be  an  intruder  on  bluff  Harry  Tudor, 
Or  panoplied  monarchs  yet  earlier  and  ruder 

Whom  you  see  on  their  backs.     In  stone  or  in  wax, 
Though  the  Sacristans  now  are  "  forbidden  to  ax  " 
For  what  Mr.  Hume  calls  "  a  scandalous  tax ;" 
While  the  Chartists  insist  they've  a  right  to  go  snacks — 
No ! — Tray's  humble  tomb  would  look  but  shabby 
'Mid  the  sculptured  shrines  of  that  gorgeous  Abbey. 

Besides,  in  the  place     They  say  there's  not  space 
To  bury  what  wet-nurses  call  a  "  Babby." 
Even  "  Kare  Ben  Jonson,"  that  famous  wight, 
I  am  told,  is  interred  there  bolt  upright. 
In  just  such  a  posture,  beneath  his  bust, 
As  Tray  used  to  sit  in  to  beg  for  a  crust. 

The  epitaph,  too.     Would  scarcely  do : 
For  what  could  it  say,  but  "  Here  lies  Tray, 
A  very  good  kind  of  a  dog  in  his  day !" 
And  satirical  folks  might  be  apt  to  imagine  it 
Meant  as  a  quiz  on  the  House  of  Plantagenet. 

No !  no ! — The  Abbey  may  do  very  well 

For  a  feudal  "  Nob,"  or  poetical  "  Swell," 

"  Crusaders,"  or  "  Poets,"  or  "  Knights  of  St.  John," 

Or  Knights  of  St.  John's  Wood,  who  once  went  on 

To  the  O^astle  of  <&ootie  iLortic  iSglintounc. 

Count  Fiddle-fumkin,  and  Lord  Fiddle-faddle, 

"Sir  Cravan,"  "Sir  Gael,"  and  "Sir  Campbell  of  SaddeU" 

(Who,  as  poor  Hook  said,  when  he  heard  of  the  feat, 

"  Was  somehow  knocked  out  of  his  family-seat ") ; 

The  Esquires  of  the  body     To  my  Lord  Tomnoddy ; 
"  Sir  Fairlie,"  "  Sir  Lambe," 
And  the  "  Eaiight  of  the  Ram," 
The  "  Knight  of  the  Rose,"  and  the  "  Knight  of  the  Dragon," 

Who,  save  at  the  flagon,     And  prog  in  the  wagon. 
The  newspapers  tell  us  did  little  "  to  brag  on ;" 

And  more,  though  the  Muse  knows  but  little  concerning  'em, 
"  Sir  Hopkins,"  "  Sir  Popkias,"  "  Sir  Gage,"  and  "  Sir  Jerning- 
ham," — 


90  THE   CYNOTAPH. 

All  Preux  Chevaliers,  in  friendly  rivalry 

Who  should  best  bring  back  the  glory  of  Chi-valry. — 

— (Pray  be  so  good,  for  the  sake  of  ray  song, 

To  pronounce  here  the  ante-penultimate  long ; 

Or  some  hyper-critic  will  certainly  cry, 

"  The  word  '  Chivalry'  is  but  a  rhyme  to  the  eye." 

And  I  own  it  is  clear     A  fastidious  ear 
Will  be,  more  or  less,  always  annoyed  with  you  when  you 
Insert  any  rhyme  that's  not  perfectly  genuine. 

As  to  pleasing  the  "  eye,"     'Tisn't  worth  while  to  try. 
Since  Moore  and  Tom  Campbell  themselves  admit  "  Spinach" 
Is  perfectly  antiphonetic  to  "  Greenwich.") — 
But  stay ! — I  say ! 
Let  me  pause  while  I  may — 
This  digression  is  leading  me  sadly  astray 
From  my  object — a  grave  for  my  poor  dog  Tray! 

I  would  not  place  him  beneath  thy  walls. 

And  proud  o'ershadowing  dome,  St.  Paul's ! 

Though  I've  always  considered  Sir  Christopher  Wren, 

As  an  architect,  one  of  the  greatest  of  men ; 

And,  talking  of  Epitaphs, — much  I  admire  his, 

"Oircumspice  si  Monumentum  requiris;" 

Which  an  erudite  Verger  translated  to  me, 

"  If  you  ask  for  his  monument,  Sir-covie-spy-see  /" — 

No ! — I  should  not  know  where     To  place  him  there ; 
I  would  not  have  him  by  surly  Johnson  be  ; — 
Or  that  queer-looking  horse  that  is  rolling  on  Ponsonby  ; — 

Or  those  ugly  minxes     The  sister  Sphynxes, 
Mixed  creatures,  half  lady,  half  lioness,  ergo 
(Denon  says),  the  emblems  of  Leo  and  Virgo; 
On  one  of  the  backs  of  which  singular  jumble. 
Sir  Ralph  Abercrombie  is  going  to  tumble, 
With  a  thump  which  alone  were  enough  to  despatch  him, 
If  the  Scotchman  in  front  shouldn't  happen  to  catch  him. 

No !  I'd  not  have  him  there, — nor  nearer  the  door, 
Where  the  man  and  the  Angel  have  got  Sir  John  Moore,* 

*  See  note  at  end  of  "The  Cynotapli." 


THE   CYNOTAPH.  91 

And  are  quietly  letting  him  down  through  the  floor, 
By  Gillespie,  the  one  who  escaped,  at  Vellore, 

Alone  from  the  row ; —    Neither  he  nor  Lord  Howe 
Would  like  to  be  plagued  with  a  little  Bow-wow. 

No,  Tray,  we  must  yield.     And  go  further  a-field ; 
To  lay  you  by  Nelson  were  downright  effront'ry ; 
— We'll  be  off  from  the  City,  and  look  at  the  country. 

It  shall  not  be  there,     In  that  sepulchred  square, 
Where  folks  are  interred  for  the  sake  of  the  air 
(Though,  pay  but  the  dues,  they  could  hardly  refiise 
To  Tray  what  they  grant  to  Thugs,  and  Hindoos, 
Turks,  Infidels,  Heretics,  Jumpers,  and  Jews), 

Where  the  tombstones  are  placed     In  the  very  best  taste, 

At  the  feet  and  the  head     Of  the  elegant  Dead, 
And  no  one's  received  who's  not  "  buried  in  lead :" 
For,  there  lie  the  bones  of  Deputy  Jones, 
Whom  the  widow's  tears  and  the  orphan's  groans 
Affected  as  much  as  they  do  the  stones 
His  executors  laid  on  the  Deputy's  bones ; 

Little  rest,  poor  knave !     Would  Tray  have  in  his  grave ; 

Since  Spirits,  'tis  plain.     Are  sent  back  again. 
To  roam  round  their  bodies, — the  bad  ones  in  pain, — 
Dragging  after  them  sometimes  a  heavy  jack-chain  ; 
Whenever  they  met,  alarmed  by  its  groans,  his 
Ghost  all  night  long  would  be  barking  at  Jones's. 

Nor  shall  he  be  laid     By  that  cross  old  maid, 
Miss  Penelope  Bird, — of  whom  it  is  said 
All  the  dogs  in  the  parish  were  ever  afraid. 

He  must  not  be  placed     By  one  so  strait-laced 
In  her  temper,  her  taste,  her  morals,  and  waist. 
For  'tis  said,  when  she  went  up  to  Heaven,  and  St.  Peter, 

Who  happened  to  meet  her.     Came  forward  to  greet  her. 
She  pursed  up  with  scorn  every  vinegar  feature. 
And  bade  him  "  Get  out  for  a  horrid  Male  Creature  I" 
So  the  Saint,  after  looking  as  if  he  could  eat  her. 
Not  knowing,  perhaps,  very  well  how  to  treat  her, 


92  THE  CYNOTAPH. 

And  not  being  willing, — or  able, — to  beat  her, 

Sent  her  back  to  her  grave  till  her  temper  grew  sweeter, 

With  an  epithet  which  I  decline  to  repeat  here. 

No, — if  Tray  were  interred    By  Penelope  Bird, 
No  dog  would  be  e'er  so  be-"  whelp  "ed  and  be-"  cur  "red- 
All  the  night  long  her  cantankerous  Sprite 
Would  be  running  about  in  the  pale  moonlight, 
Chasing  him  round,  and  attempting  to  lick 
The  ghost  of  poor  Tray  with  the  ghost  of  a  stick. 

Stay ! — let  me  see ! —    Ay — here  it  shall  be 
At  the  root  of  this  gnarled  and  time-worn  tree, 

Where  Tray  and  I     Would  often  lie, 
And  watch  the  bright  clouds  as  they  floated  by 
In  the  broad  expanse  of  the  clear  blue  sky. 
When  the  sun  was  bidding  the  world  good-bye ; 
And  the  plaintive  Nightingale,  warbling  nigh, 
Poured  forth  her  mournful  melody  ; 
While  the  tender  Wood-pigeon's  cooing  cry 
Has  made  me  say  to  myself,  with  a  sigh, 
"  How  nice  you  would  eat  with  a  steak  in  a  pie !" 

Ay,  here  it  shall  be ! — far,  far  from  the  view 
Of  the  noisy  world  and  its  maddening  crew ; 

Simple  and  few,     Tender  and  true, 
The  lines  o'er  his  grave. — They  have,  some  of  them,  too. 
The  advantage  of  being  remarkably  new. 

iHpitapij. 

Affliction  sore     Long  time  he  bore, 
Physicians  were  in  vain ! — 

Grown  blind,  alas !  he'd     Some  Prussia  Acid, 
And  that  put  him  out  of  his  pain ! 


Note,  Page  90. 

In  the  autumn  of  1824,  Captain  Medwin  having  hinted  that  certain 
beautiful  lines  on  the  burial  of  this  gallant  officer  might  have  been  the 
production  of  Lord  Byron's  Muse,  the  late  Mr.  Sydney  Taylor,  some- 


THE  CYNOTAPH.  93 

what  indignantly,  claimed  them  for  their  rightful  owner,  the  Eev. 
Charles  Wolfe.  During  the  controversy  a  third  claimant  started  up  in 
the  person  of  a  soi-disant  "Doctor  Marshall,"  who  turned  out  to  be  a 
Durham  blacksmith,  and  his  pretensions  a  hoax.  It  was  then  that  a 
certain  "Doctor  Peppercorn"  put  forth  his  pretensions,  to  what  he 
averred  was  the  only  "true  and  original"  version,  viz. — 

Not  a  sotis  had  he  got, — not  a  guinea  or  note, 

And  he  looked  confoundedly  flurried, 
As  he  bolted  away  without  paying  his  shot, 

And  the  Landlady  after  him  hurried. 

We  saw  him  again  at  dead  of  night. 

When  home  from  the  Club  returning ; 
We  twigged  the  Doctor  beneath  the  light 

Of  the  gas-lamp  brilliantly  burning. 

All  bare,  and  exposed  to  the  midnight  dews, 

Reclined  in  the  gutter  we  found  him : 
And  he  looked  like  a  gentleman  taking  a  snooze, 

With  his  Marshall  cloak  around  him. 

"  The  Doctor's  as  drunk  as  the  devil,"  we  said. 
And  we  managed  a  shutter  to  borrow ; 
We  raised  him,  and  sighed  at  the  thought  that  his  head 
AVould  "  consumedly  ache"  on  the  morrow. 

We  bore  him  home,  and  we  put  him  to  bed, 

And  we  told  his  Avife  and  his  daughter 
To  give  him,  next  morning,  a  couple  of  red 

Herrings,  with  soda-water. — 

Loudly  they  talked  of  his  money  that's  gone. 

And  his  Lady  began  to  upbraid  him ; 
But  little  he  reck'd,  so  they  let  him  snore  ou 

'Neath  the  counterpane  just  as  we  laid  him. 

We  tuck'd  him  in,  and  had  hardly  done 

A^Tien,  beneath  the  window  calling, 
We  heard  the  rough  voice  of  a  son  of  a  gun 

Of  a  watchman  "  One  o'clock !"  bawling. 

Slowly  and  sadly  we  all  walked  down 

From  his  room  in  the  uppermost  story  ; 
A  rushlight  we  jilaced  on  the  cold  hearth-stone, 

And  we  left  him  alone  in  his  glory. 


Hos  ego  versiculos  feci,  tulit  alter  honores. — Yirgil. 
I  wrote  the  lines — *  *  owned  them — he  told  stories ! 

Thomas  Ingoldsby. 


94  TEE  LEECH  OF  FOLKESTONE. 


MRS.  BOTHERBY'S  STORY. 


READER,  were  you  ever  bewitched  ? — I  do  not  mean  by  a 
"  white  wench's  black  eye,"  or  by  love-potions  imbibed 
from  a  ruby  lip ; — but,  were  you  ever  really  and  bona  fide 
bewitched,  in  the  true  Matthew  Hopkins  sense  of  the  word? 
Did  you  ever,  for  instance,  find  yourself  from  head  to  heel  one 
vast  complication  of  cramps  ? — or  burst  out  into  sudorific  exu- 
dation like  a  cold  thaw,  with  the  thermometer  at  zero  ?  Were 
your  eyes  ever  turned  upside  down,  exhibiting  nothing  but 
their  whites?  Did  you  ever  vomit  a  paper  of  crooked  pins? 
or  expectorate  Whitechapel  needles  ?  These  are  genuine  and 
undoubted  marks  of  possession ;  and  if  you  never  experienced 
any  of  them, — why,  "  happy  man  be  his  dole !" 

Yet  such  things  have  been :  yea,  we  are  assured,  and  that  on 
no  mean  authority,  still  are. 

The  World,  according  to  the  best  geographers,  is  divided  into 
Europe,  Asia,  Africa,  America,  and  Romney  Marsh.  In  this 
last-named  and  fifth  quarter  of  the  globe,  a  witch  may  still  be 
occasionally  discovered  in  favorable,  i.  e.,  stormy,  seasons, 
weathering  Dungeness  Point  in  an  eggshell,  or  careering  on  her 
broomstick  over  Dymchurch  wall.  A  cow  may  yet  be  some- 
times seen  galloping  like  mad,  with  tail  erect,  and  an  old  pair 
of  breeches  on  her  horns,  an  unerring  guide  to  the  door  of  the 
crone  whose  magic  arts  have  drained  her  udder.  I  do  not, 
however,  remember  to  have  heard  that  any  Conjurer  has  of 
late  been  detected  in  the  district. 

Not  many  miles  removed  from  the  verge  of  this  recondite 
region  stands  a  collection  of  houses,  which  its  maligners  call  a 
fishing-town,  and  its  well-wishers  a  Watering-place.  A  limb  of 
one  of  the  Cinque  Ports,  it  has  (or  lately  had)  a  corporation  of 
its  own,  and  has  been  thought  considerable  enough  to  give  a 
second  title  to  a  noble  family.     Rome  stood  on  seven  hills; 


THE  LEECH  OF  FOLKESTONE.  95 

Folkestone  seems  to  have  been  built  upon  seventy.  Its  streets, 
lanes,  and  alleys, — fanciful  distinctions  without  much  real  dif- 
ference,— are  agreeable  enough  to  persons  who  do  not  mind  run- 
ning up  and  down  stairs ;  and  the  only  inconvenience  at  all 
felt  by  such  of  its  inhabitants  as  are  not  asthmatic,  is  when 
some  heedless  urchin  tumbles  down  a  chimney,  or  an  imjierti- 
nent  pedestrian  peeps  into  a  garret  window. 

At  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  town,  on  the  sea-beach,  and 
scarcely  above  high-water  mark,  stood,  in  the  good  old  times,  a 
row  of  houses  then  denominated  "  Frog-hole."  Modern  refine- 
ment subsequently  euphonized  the  name  into  "East  Street;" 
but  "what's  in  a  name?"  the  encroachments  of  Ocean  have 
long  since  levelled  all  in  one  common  ruin. 

Here,  in  the  early  part  of  the  seventeenth  century,  flourished 
in  somewhat  doubtful  reputation,  but  comparative  opulence,  a 
compounder  of  medicines,  one  Master  Erasmus  Buckthorne, — 
the  effluvia  of  whose  drugs  from  within,  mingling  agreeably 
with  the  "ancient  and  fish-like  smells"  from  without,  wafted  a 
delicious  perfume  throughout  the  neighborhood. 

At  seven  of  the  clock  on  the  morning  when  Mrs.  Botherby's 
narrative  commences,  a  stout  Sufiblk  "  punch,"  about  thirteen 
hands  and  a  half  in  height,  was  slowly  led  up  and  down  before 
the  door  of  the  pharmacopolist  by  a  lean  and  withered  lad, 
whose  appearance  warranted  an  opinion,  pretty  generally  ex- 
pressed, that  his  master  found  him  as  useful  in  experimental- 
izing as  in  household  drudgery;  and  that,  for  every  pound 
avoirdupois  of  solid  meat,  he  swallowed  at  the  least  two  pounds 
troy  weight  of  chemicals  and  galenicals.  As  the  town  clock 
struck  the  quarter.  Master  Buckthorne  emerged  from  his  lab- 
oratory, and,  putting  the  key  carefully  into  his  pocket,  mounted 
the  sure-footed  cob  aforesaid,  and  proceeded  up  and  down  the 
accli\dties  and  declivities  of  the  town  with  the  gravity  due  to 
his  station  and  profession.  When  he  reached  the  open  country 
his  pace  was  increased  to  a  sedate  canter,  which,  in  somewhat 
more  than  half  an  hour,  brought  "the  horse  and  his  rider"  in 
front  of  a  handsome  and  substantial  mansion,  the  numerous 
gable  ends  and  bayed  windows  of  which  bespoke  the  owner  a 
man  of  worship,  and  one  well  to  do  in  the  world. 

"  How  now,  Hodge  Gardener  ?"  quoth  the  Leech,  scarcely 


96  MRS.  BOTHERBT'S  STORY. 

drawing  bit ;  for  Punch  seemed  to  be  aware  that  he  had  reached 
his  destination,  and  paused  of  his  own  accord.  "  How  now, 
man?  How  fares  thine  employer,  worthy  Master  Marsh? 
How  hath  he  done?  How  hath  he  slept?  My  potion  hath 
done  its  office  ?     Ha !" 

"Alack!  ill  at  ease,  worthy  sir,  ill  at  ease,"  returned  the 
hind.  "His  honor  is  up  and  stirring;  but  he  hath  rested 
none,  and  complaineth  that  the  same  gnawing  pain  devoureth, 
as  it  were,  his  very  vitals.     In  sooth  he  is  ill  at  ease." 

"  Morrow,  doctor !"  interrupted  a  voice  from  a  casement 
opening  on  the  lawn.  "  Good  morrow !  I  have  looked  for, 
longed  for,  thy  coming  this  hour  and  more.  Enter  at  once: 
the  pastry  and  tankard  are  impatient  for  thine  attack." 

"Marry,  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  balk  their  fancy!" 
quoth  the  Leech  sotto  voce,  as,  abandoning  the  bridle  to  honest 
Hodge,  he  dismounted  and  followed  a  buxom-looking  hand- 
maiden into  the  breakfast  parlor. 

There,  at  the  head  of  his  well-furnished  board,  sat  Master 
Thomas  Marsh,  of  Marston  Plall,  a  yeoman  well  respected  in 
his  degree :  one  of  that  sturdy  and  sterling  class  which,  taking 
rank  immediately  below  the  Esquire  (a  title  in  its  origin  purely 
military),  occupied,  in  the  wealthier  counties,  the  position  in 
society  now  filled  by  the  Country  Gentleman.  He  was  one  of 
those  of  whom  the  jDroverb  ran : — 

"AKnightof  Cales, 
A  Gentleman  of  Wales, 

And  a  Laird  of  the  North  Countree, — 
A  Yeoman  of  Kent, 
With  his  yearly  rent, 

Will  buy  them  out  all  three !" 

A  cold  sirloin,  big  enough  to  frighten  a  Frenchman,  filled 
the  place  of  honor,  counterchecked  by  a  game-pie  of  no  stinted 
dimensions  ;  while  a  silver  flagon  of  "  humming-bub" — viz.,  ale 
strong  enough  to  blow  a  man's  beaver  ofi" — smiled  opposite  in 
treacherous  amenity.  The  sideboard  groaned  beneath  sundry 
massive  cups  and  waiters  of  the  purest  silver ;  while  the  huge 
skull  of  a  fallow-deer,  with  its  branching  horns,  frowned  majes- 
tically above.  All  spoke  of  afiluence,  of  comfort ;  all  save  the 
master,  whose  restless  eye  and  feverish  look  hinted  but  too 


THE  LEECn  OF  FOLKESTONE.  97 

plainly  the  severest  mental  or  bodily  disorder.  By  the  side  of 
the  proprietor  of  the  mansion  sat  his  consort,  a  lady  now  past 
the  bloom  of  youth,  yet  still  retaining  many  of  its  charms. 
The  clear  olive  of  her  complexion,  and  "  the  darkness  of  her 
Andalusian  eye,"  at  once  betrayed  her  foreign  origin ;  in  fact, 
her  "  lord  and  master,"  as  husbands  were  even  then,  by  a  legal 
fiction,  denominated,  had  taken  her  to  his  bosom  in  a  foreign 
country.  The  cadet  of  his  family.  Master  Thomas  Marsh  had 
early  in  life  been  engaged  in  commerce.  In  the  pursuit  of  his 
vocation  he  had  visited  Antwerp,  Hamburg,  and  most  of  the 
Hanse  Towns;  and  had  already  formed  a  tender  connection 
with  the  orphan  ofispring  of  one  of  old  Alva's  officers,  when 
the  unexpected  deaths  of  one  immediate  and  two  presumptive 
heirs  placed  him  next  in  succession  to  the  family  acres.  He 
married,  and  brought  home  his  bride :  who,  by  the  decease  of 
the  venerable  possessor,  heart-broken  at  the  loss  of  his  elder 
children,  became  eventually  lady  of  Marston  Hall.  It  has 
been  said  that  she  was  beautiful,  yet  was  her  beauty  of  a  char- 
acter that  operates  on  the  fancy  more  than  the  affections ;  she 
was  one  to  be  admired  rather  than  loved.  The  proud  curl  of 
her  lip,  the  firmness  of  her  tread,  her  arched  brow  and  stately 
carriage,  showed  the  decision,  not  to  say  haughtiness,  of  her 
soul ;  while  her  glances,  whether  lightening  with  anger  or  melt- 
ing in  extreme  softness,  betrayed  the  existence  of  passions  as 
intense  in  kind  as  opposite  in  quality.  She  rose  as  Erasmus 
entered  the  parlor,  and,  bestowing  on  him  a  look  fraught  with 
meaning,  quitted  the  room,  leaving  him  in  unrestrained  com- 
munication with  his  patient. 

"  'Fore  George,  Master  Buckthorne !"  exclaimed  the  latter, 
as  the  Leech  drew  near,  "  I  will  no  more  of  your  pharmacy ; — 
burn,  burn,  gnaw,  gnaw, — I  had  as  lief  the  foul  fiend  were  in 
my  gizzard  as  one  of  your  drugs.  Tell  me,  in  the  devil's  name, 
what  is  the  matter  with  me !" 

Thus  conjured,  the  practitioner  paused,  and  even  turned  some- 
what pale.  There  was  a  perceptible  faltering  in  his  voice  as, 
evading  the  question,  he  asked,  "  What  say  your  other  physi- 
cians ?" 

"  Doctor  Phiz  says  it  is  wind, — Doctor  Fuz  says  it  is  water, — 
and  Doctor  Buz  says  it  is  something  between  wind  and  water." 
7 


98  MRS.  BOTHERBY'S  STORY. 

"  They  are  all  of  them  wrong,"  said  Erasmus  Buckthorne. 

"  Truly,  I  think  so,"  returned  the  patient.  "  They  are  mani- 
fest asses;  but  you,  good  Leech,  you  are  a  horse  of  another 
color.  The  world  talks  loudly  of  your  learning,  your  skill,  and 
cunning  in  arts  the  most  abstruse ;  nay,  sooth  to  say,  some  look 
coldly  on  you  therefor,  and  stickle  not  to  aver  that  you  are 
cater-cousin  with  Beelzebub  himself." 

"  It  is  ever  the  fate  of  science,"  murmured  the  professor,  "  to 
be  maligned  by  the  ignorant  and  superstitious.  But  a  truce 
with  such  folly ; — let  me  examine  your  palate." 

Master  Marsh  thrust  out  a  tongue  long,  clear,  and  red  as  a 
beet-root.  "There  is  nothing  wrong  there,"  said  the  Leech. 
"Your  wrist: — no; — the  pulse  is  firm  and  regular,  the  skin 
cool  and  temperate.    Sir,  there  is  nothing  the  matter  with  you." 

"  Nothing  the  matter  with  me,  Sir  'Potecary  ? — But  I  tell  you 
there  is  the  matter  with  me, — much  the  matter  with  me.  Why 
is  it  that  something  seems  ever  gnawing  at  my  heart-strings  ? — 
Whence  this  pain  in  the  region  of  the  liver  ? — Why  is  it  that  I 
sleep  not  o'  nights, — rest  not  o'  days  ?    Why " 

"  You  are  fidgety.  Master  Marsh,"  said  the  doctor. 

Master  Marsh's  brow  grew  dark :  he  half  rose  from  his  seat, 
supported  himself  by  both  hands  on  the  arms  of  his  elbow  chair, 
and,  in  accents  of  mingled  anger  and  astonishment,  repeated 
the  word  "  Fidgety !" 

"  Ay,  fidgety,"  returned  the  doctor,  calmly.  "  Tut,  man,  there 
is  nought  ails  thee  save  thine  own  overweening  fancies.  Take 
less  of  food,  more  air,  put  aside  thy  flagon,  call  for  thy  horse ; 
be  boot  and  saddle  the  word !     Why,  hast  thou  not  youth  ?" 

"  I  have,"  said  the  patient. 

"  Wealth  and  a  fair  domain  ?" 

"  Granted,"  quoth  Marsh,  cheerily. 

"And  a  fair  wife?" 

"  Yea,"  was  the  response,  but  in  a  tone  something  less  satis- 
fied. 

"  Then  arouse  thee,  man,  shake  ofi"  this  fantasy,  betake  thyself 
to  thy  lawful  occasions — use  thy  good  hap, — follow  thy  pleas- 
ures, and  think  no  more  of  these  fancied  ailments." 

"  But  I  tell  you,  master  mine,  these  ailments  are  not  fancied. 
I  lose  my  rest,  I  loathe  my  food,  my  doublet  sits  loosely  on 


THE  LEECH  OF  FOLKESTONE.  99 

me, — these  racking  pains.     My  wife,  too,  when  I  meet  her  gaze, 
the  cold  sweat  stands  on  my  forehead,  and  I  could  almost 

think "      Marsh   paused   abruptly,   mused   a  while,   then 

added,  looking  steadily  at  his  visitor,  "These  things  are  not 
right ;  they  pass  the  common.  Master  Erasmus  Buckthorne," 

A  slight  shade  crossed  the  brow  of  the  Leech,  but  its  passage 
was  momentary ;  his  features  softened  to  a  smile,  in  which  pity 
seemed  slightly  blended  with  contempt.  "  Have  done  with  such 
follies,  Master  Marsh !  You  are  well,  an  you  would  but  think 
so.  Ride,  I  say,  hunt,  shoot,  do  anything, — disperse  these  mel- 
ancholic humors,  and  become  yourself  again." 

"  Well,  I  will  do  your  bidding,"  said  Marsh,  thoughtfully. 
"  It  may  be  so ;  and  yet, — but  I  will  do  your  bidding.  Master 
Cobb  of  Brenzet  writes  me  that  he  hath  a  score  or  two  of  fat 
ewes  to  be  sold  a  pennyworth ;  I  had  thought  to  have  sent  Ralph 
Looker,  but  I  will  essay  to  go  myself.  Ho,  there ! — saddle  me 
the  brown  mare,  and  bid  Ralph  be  ready  to  attend  me  on  the 
gelding." 

An  expression  of  pain  contracted  the  features  of  Master 
Marsh  as  he  rose  and  slowly  quitted  the  apartment  to  prepare 
for  his  journey ;  while  the  Leech,  having  bidden  him  farewell, 
vanished  through  an  opposite  door,  and  betook  himself  to  the 
private  boudoir  of  the  fair  mistress  of  Marston,  muttering  as 
he  went  a  quotation  from  a  then  newly-published  play, — 

"  Not  poppy,  nor  mandragora, 
Nor  all  the  drowsy  syrups  of  the  world, 
Shall  ever  medicine  thee  to  that  sweet  sleep 
"Which  thou  ownedst  yesterday." 

Of  what  passed  at  this  interview  between  the  Folkestone 
doctor  and  the  fair  Spaniard,  Mrs.  Botherby  declares  she  could 
never  obtain  any  satisfactory  elucidation.  Not  that  tradition  is 
silent  on  the  subject, — quite  the  contrary ;  it  is  the  abundance, 
not  paucity,  of  the  materials  she  supplies,  and  the  consequent 
embarrassment  of  selection,  that  makes  the  difficulty.  Some 
have  averred  that  the  Leech,  whose  character,  as  has  been  before 
hinted,  was  more  than  threadbare,  employed  his  time  in  teach- 
ing her  the  mode  of  administering  certain  noxious  compounds, 
the  unconscious  partaker  whereof  would  pine  and  die  so  slowly 


100  MRS.  BOTIIERBY'S  STORY. 

and  gradually  as  to  defy  suspicion.  Others  there  were  who 
affirmed  that  Lucifer  himself  was  then  and  there  raised  in  pro- 
pria persona,  with  all  his  terrible  attributes  of  horn  and  hoof. 
In  support  of  this  assertion,  they  adduce  the  testimony  of  the 
aforesaid  buxom  housemaid,  who  protested  that  the  Hall  smelt 
that  evening  like  a  manufactory  of  matches.  All,  however, 
seemed  to  agree  that  the  confabulation,  whether  human  or  in- 
fernal, was  conducted  with  profound  secrecy,  and  protracted  to 
a  considerable  length ;  that  its  object,  as  far  as  could  be  divined, 
meant  anything  but  good  to  the  head  of  the  family ;  that  the 
lady,  moreover,  was  heartily  tired  of  her  husband ;  and  that, 
in  the  event  of  his  removal  by  disease  or  casualty.  Master  Eras- 
mus Buckthorne,  albeit  a  great  philosophist,  would  have  no 
violent  objection  to  "  throw  physic  to  the  dogs,"  and  exchange 
his  laboratory  for  the  estate  of  Marston,  its  live  stock  included. 
Some,  too,  have  inferred  that  to  him  did  Madame  Isabel  seriously 
incline ;  while  others  have  thought,  induced  perhaps  by  subse- 
quent events,  that  she  was  merely  using  him  for  her  purposes ; 
that  one  Jose,  a  tall,  bright-eyed,  hook-nosed  stripling  from 
her  native  land,  was  a  personage  not  unlikely  to  put  a  spoke  in 
the  doctor's  wheel ;  and  that,  should  such  a  chance  arise,  the 
Sage,  wise  as  he  was,  would,  after  all,  run  no  slight  risk  of 
being  "  bamboozled." 

Master  Jose  was  a  youth  well-favored  and  comely  to  look 
upon.  His  office  was  that  of  page  to  the  dame ;  an  office  which, 
after  long  remaining  in  abeyance,  has  been  of  late  years  revived, 
as  may  well  be  seen  in  the  persons  of  sundry  smart  hobblede- 
hoys, now  constantly  to  be  met  with  on  staircases  and  in  bou- 
doirs, clad,  for  the  most  part,  in  garments  fitted  tightly  to  the 
shape,  the  lower  moiety  adorned  with  a  broad  stripe  of  crimson 
or  silver  lace,  and  the  upper  with  what  the  first  Wit  of  our 
times  has  described  as  "  a  favorable  eruption  of  buttons."  The 
precise  duties  of  this  employment  have  never,  as  far  as  we  have 
heard,  been  accurately  defined.  The  perfuming  a  handkerchief, 
the  combing  a  lap-dog,  and  the  occasional  presentation  of  a 
sippet-shaped  billet  doux,  are,  and  always  have  been,  among 
them  ;  but  these  a  young  gentleman  standing  five  foot  ten,  and 
aged  nineteen  "  last  grass,"  might  well  be  supposed  to  have  out- 
grown.    Jose,  however,  kept  his  place,  perhaps  because  he  was 


THE  LEECH  OF  FOLKESTONE.  101 

not  fit  for  auy  other.  To  the  conference  between  his  mistresa 
and  the  physician  he  had  not  been  admitted ;  his  post  was  to 
keep  watch  and  ward  in  the  ante-room ;  and,  when  the  inter- 
view was  concluded,  he  attended  tlie  lady  and  her  visitor  as  far 
as  the  courtyard,  where  he  held,  with  all  due  respect,  the  stirrup 
for  the  latter,  as  he  once  more  resumed  his  position  on  the  back 
of  Punch. 

Who  is  it  that  says,  "  little  pitchers  have  large  ears  "  ?  Some 
deep  metaphysician  of  the  potteries,  who  might  have  added  that 
they  have  also  quick  eyes,  and  sometimes  silent  tongues.  There 
was  a  little  metaphorical  piece  of  crockery  of  this  class,  who, 
screened  by  a  huge  elbow-chair,  had  sat  a  quiet  and  unobserved 
spectator  of  the  whole  proceedings  between  her  mamma  and 
Master  Erasmus  Buckthorne.  This  was  Miss  Marian  Marsh, 
a  rosy-cheeked,  laughter-loving  imp  of  some  six  years  old,  but 
one  who  could  be  mute  as  a  mouse  when  the  fit  was  on  her.  A 
handsome  and  highly-polished  cabinet,  of  the  darkest  ebony, 
occupied  a  recess  at  one  end  of  the  apartment ;  this  had  long 
been  a  great  subject  of  speculation  to  little  Miss.  Her  curiosity, 
however,  had  always  been  repelled ;  nor  had  all  her  coaxing 
even  won  her  an  inspection  of  the  thousand  and  one  pretty 
things  which  its  recesses  no  doubt  contained.  On  this  occasion 
it  was  unlocked,  and  Marian  was  about  to  rush  forward  in  eager 
anticipation  of  a  peep  at  its  interior,  when,  child  as  she  was, 
the  reflection  struck  her  that  she  would  stand  a  better  chance 
of  carrying  her  point  by  remaining  perdue.  Fortune  for  once 
favored  her:  she  crouched  closer  than  before,  and  saw  her 
mother  take  something  from  one  of  the  drawers,  which  she 
handed  over  to  the  Leech.  Strange  mutterings  followed,  and 
words  whose  sound  was  foreign  to  her  youthftil  ears.  Had  she 
been  older,  their  import,  perhaps,  might  have  been  equally  un- 
known. After  a  while  there  was  a  pause ;  and  then  the  lady, 
as  in  answer  to  a  requisition  from  the  gentleman,  placed  in  his 
hand  a  something  which  she  took  from  her  toilet.  The  trans- 
action, whatever  its  nature,  seemed  now  to  be  complete,  and  the 
article  was  carefully  replaced  in  the  drawer  from  which  it  had 
been  taken.  A  long  and  apparently  interesting  conversation 
then  took  place  between  the  parties,  carried  on  in  a  low  tone. 
At  its  termination,  Mistress  Marsh  and  Master  Erasmus  Buck- 


102  MRS.  BOTHERBY'S  STORY. 

thorne  quitted  the  boudoir  together.  But  the  cabinet! — ay, 
that  was  left  unfastened ;  the  folding  doors  still  remained  invit- 
ingly expanded,  the  bunch  of  keys  dangling  from  the  lock.  In 
an  instant  the  spoiled  child  was  in  a  chair ;  the  drawer  so  re- 
cently closed  yielded  at  once  to  her  hand,  and  her  hurried 
researches  were  rewarded  by  the  prettiest  little  waxen  doll 
imaginable.  It  was  a  first-rate  prize,  and  Miss  lost  no  time  in 
appropriating  it  to  herself.  Long  before  Madame  Marsh  had 
returned  to  her  Sanctum  Marian  was  seated  under  a  laurustinus 
in  the  garden,  nursing  her  new  baby  with  the  most  affectionate 

solicitude. 

**  ****** 

"  Susan,  look  here ;  see  what  a  nasty  scratch  I  have  got  upon 
my  hand,"  said  the  young  lady,  when  routed  at  length  from 
her  hiding-place  to  her  noontide  meal. 

"  Yes,  Miss,  this  is  always  the  way  with  you !  mend,  mend, 
mend, — nothing  but  mend!  Scrambling  about  among  the 
bushes,  and  tearing  your  clothes  to  rags.  What  with  you,  and 
with  madam's  farthingales  and  kirtles,  a  poor  bower-maiden 
has  a  fine  time  of  it !" 

"  But  I  have  not  torn  my  clothes,  Susan,  and  it  was  not  the 
bushes ;  it  was  the  doll :  only  see  what  a  great  ugly  pin  I  have 
pulled  out  of  it !  and  look,  here  is  another !"  As  she  spoke, 
Marian  drew  forth  one  of  those  extended  pieces  of  black  pointed 
wire  with  which,  in  the  days  of  toupees  and  pompoons,  our  fore- 
mothers  were  wont  to  secure  their  fly  caps  and  head-gear  from 
the  impertinent  assaults  of  "  Zephyrus  and  the  Little  Breezes." 

"  And  pray,  Miss,  where  did  you  get  this  pretty  doll,  as  you 
call  it  ?"  asked  Susan,  turning  over  the  puppet,  and  viewing  it 
with  a  scrutinizing  eye. 

"  Mamma  gave  it  me,"  said  the  child. — This  was  a  fib. 

"  Indeed !"  quoth  the  girl  thoughtfully ;  and  then,  in  a  half 
soliloquy,  and  a  lower  key,  "  Well !  I  wish  I  may  die  if  it 
doesn't  look  like  master!  But  come  to  your  dinner.  Miss! 
Hark !  the  hell  is  striking  One .'" 

Meanwhile  Master  Thomas  Mai-sh  and  his  man  Ralph  were 
threading  the  devious  paths,  then,  as  now,  most  pseudonyraously 
dignified  with  the  name  of  roads,  that  wound  between  Marston 
Hall  and  the  frontier  of  Romney  Marsh.     Their  progress  was 


THE  LEECH  OF  FOLKESTONE.  103 

comparatively  slow ;  for  though  the  brown  mare  was  as  good  a 
roadster  as  man  might  back,  and  the  gelding  no  mean  nag  of 
his  hands,  yet  the  tracts,  rarely  traversed  save  by  the  rude 
wains  of  the  day,  miry  in  the  "bottoms,"  and  covered  with 
loose  and  rolling  stones  on  the  higher  grounds,  rendered  barely 
passable  the  perpetual  alternation  of  hill  and  valley. 

The  master  rode  on  in  pain,  and  the  man  in  listlessness ; 
although  the  intercourse  between  two  individuals  so  situated 
was  much  less  restrained  in  those  days  than  might  suit  the  re- 
finement of  a  later  age,  little  passed  approximating  to  conver- 
sation beyond  an  occasional  and  half-stifled  groan  from  the 
one,  or  a  vacant  whistle  from  the  other.  An  hour's  riding  had 
brought  them  among  the  woods  of  Acryse;  and  they  were 
about  to  descend  one  of  those  green  and  leafy  lanes,  rendered 
by  matted  and  overarching  branches  alike  impervious  to  shower 
or  sunbeam,  when  a  sudden  and  violent  spasm  seized  on  Master 
Marsh,  and  nearly  caused  him  to  fall  from  his  horse.  With 
some  difficulty  he  succeeded  in  dismounting  and  seating  him- 
self by  the  roadside.  Here  he  remained  for  a  full  half-hour 
in  great  apparent  agony ;  the  cold  sweat  rolled  in  large  round 
drops  adown  his  clammy  forehead,  a  universal  shivering  palsied 
every  limb,  his  eyeballs  appeared  to  be  starting  from  their 
sockets,  and  to  his  attached  though  dull  and  heavy  serving- 
man  he  seemed  as  one  struggling  in  the  pangs  of  impending 
dissolution.  His  groans  rose  thick  and  frequent;  and  the 
alarmed  Ralph  was  hesitating  between  his  disinclination  to 
leave  him  and  his  desire  to  procure  such  assistance  as  one  of 
the  few  cottages,  rarely  sprinkled  in  that  wild  country,  might 
affi)rd,  when,  after  a  long-drawn  sigh,  his  master's  features  as 
suddenly  relaxed;  he  declared  himself  better,  the  pang  had 
passed  away,  and,  to  use  his  own  expression,  he  "  felt  as  if  a 
knife  had  been  drawn  from  out  his  very  heart."  With  Ralph's 
assistance,  after  a  while  he  again  reached  his  saddle ;  and 
though  still  ill  at  ease,  from  a  deep-seated  and  gnawing  pain, 
which  ceased  not,  as  he  averred,  to  torment  him,  the  violence 
of  the  paroxysm  was  spent,  and  it  returned  no  more. 

Master  and  man  pursued  their  way  with  increased  speed  as, 
emerging  from  the  wooded  defiles,  they  at  length  neared  the 
coast ;  then,  leaving  the  romantic  castle  of  Saltwood,  with  its 


104  MRS.  BOTHBRBV'S  STORY. 

neighboring  town  of  Hithe,  a  little  on  their  left,  they  proceeded 
along  the  ancient  paved  causeway,  and,  crossing  the  old  Roman 
road,  or  Watling,  plunged  again  into  the  woods  that  stretched 
between  Lympne  and  Ostenhanger. 

The  sun  rode  high  in  the  heavens,  and  its  meridian  blaze  was 
powerfully  felt  by  man  and  horse,  when,  again  quitting  their 
leafy  covert,  the  travellers  debouched  on  the  open  plain  of  Al- 
dington Frith,  a  wide  tract  of  unenclosed  country  stretching 
down  to  the  very  borders  of  "  the  Marsh  "  itself. 

Here  it  was,  in  the  neighboring  chapelry,  the  site  of  which 
may  yet  be  traced  by  the  curious  antiquary,  that  Elizabeth 
Barton,  the  "  Holy  Maid  of  Kent,"  had,  something  less  than  a 
hundred  years  previous  to  the  period  of  our  narrative,  com- 
menced that  series  of  supernatural  pranks  which  eventually 
procured  for  her  head  an  unenvied  elevation  upon  London 
Bridge;  and  though  the  parish  had  since  enjoyed  the  benefit 
of  the  incumbency  of  Master  Erasmus's  illustrious  and  enlight- 
ened Namesake,  still,  truth  to  tell,  some  of  the  old  leaven  was 
even  yet  supposed  to  be  at  work.  The  place  had,  in  fact,  an  ill 
name ;  and,  though  Popish  miracles  had  ceased  to  electrify  its 
denizens,  spells  and  charms,  operating  by  a  no  less  wondrous 
agency,  were  said  to  have  taken  their  place.  Warlocks  and 
other  unholy  subjects  of  Satan  were  reported  to  make  its  wild 
recesses  their  favorite  rendezvous,  and  that  to  an  extent  which 
eventually  attracted  the  notice  of  no  less  a  person  than  the 
sagacious  Matthew  Hopkins  himself,  Witchfinder-General  to 
the  British  Government. 

A  great  portion  of  the  Frith,  or  Fright,  as  the  name  was 
then,  and  is  still,  pronounced,  had  formerly  been  a  Chase,  with 
rights  of  Free-warren,  etc.,  appertaining  to  the  Archbishops  of 
the  Province.  Since  the  Reformation,  however,  it  had  been 
disparked ;  and  when  Master  Thomas  Marsh  and  his  man 
Ralph  entered  upon  its  confines,  the  open  greensward  exhibited 
a  lively  scene,  sufficiently  explanatory  of  certain  sounds  that 
had  already  reached  their  ears  while  yet  within  the  sylvan 
screen  that  concealed  their  origin. 

It  was  Fair-day ;  booths,  stalls,  and  all  the  rude  parapher- 
nalia of  an  assembly  that  then  met  as  much  for  the  purposes 
of  traffic  as  festivity,  were  scattered  irregularly  over  the  turf; 


THE  LEECH  OF  FOLKESTONE.  105 

peddlers  with  their  packs,  horse-croupers,  pig-merchants,  itin- 
erant vendors  of  crockery  and  cutlery,  wandered  promiscuously 
among  the  mingled  groups,  exposing  their  several  wares  and 
commodities,  and  soliciting  custom.  On  one  side  was  the  gaudy 
ribbon,  making  its  mute  appeal  to  rustic  gallantry ;  on  the 
other  the  delicious  brandy-ball  aud  alluring  lollipop,  com- 
pounded after  the  most  approved  receipt  in  the  "  True  Gentle- 
woman's Garland,"  and  "raising  the  waters"  in  the  mouth  of 
many  an  expectant  urchin. 

Nor  were  rural  sports  wanting  to  those  whom  pleasure,  rather 
than  business,  had  drawn  from  their  humble  homes.  Here  was 
the  tall  and  slippery  pole,  glittering  in  its  grease,  and  crowned 
with  the  ample  cheese  that  mocked  the  hopes  of  the  discomfited 
climber.  There  the  fugitive  pippin,  swimming  in  water  not  of 
the  purest,  and  bobbing  from  the  expanded  lips  of  the  juvenile 
Tantalus.  In  this  quarter  the  ear  was  pierced  by  squeaks  from 
some  beleaguered  porker,  whisking  his  well-soaped  tail  from  the 
grasp  of  one  already  in  fancy  his  captor.  In  that  the  eye  rest- 
ed, with  undisguised  delight,  upon  the  grimaces  of  grinning 
candidates  for  the  honors  of  the  horse-collar.  All  was  fun, 
frolic,  courtship,  junketing,  and  jollity. 

Maid  Marian,  indeed,  with  her  lieges,  Robin  Hood,  Scarlet, 
and  Little  John,  was  wanting ;  Friar  Tuck  was  absent ;  even 
the  Hobby-horse  had  disappeared  :  but  the  agile  Morris-dancers 
yet  were  there,  and  jingled  their  bells  merrily  among  stalls  well 
stored  with  gingerbread,  tops,  whips,  whistles,  and  all  those 
noisy  instruments  of  domestic  torture  in  which  scenes  like  these 
are  even  now  so  fertile.  Had  I  a  foe  whom  I  held  at  deadliest 
feud,  I  would  entice  his  favorite  child  to  a  Fair,  and  buy  him 
a  Whistle  and  a  Penny-trumpet. 

In  one  corner  of  the  green,  a  little  apart  from  the  thickest  of 
the  throng,  stood  a  small  square  stage,  nearly  level  with  the 
chins  of  the  spectators,  whose  repeated  bursts  of  laughter  seemed 
to  intimate  the  presence  of  something  more  than  usually  amus- 
ing. The  platform  was  divided  into  two  unequal  portions ;  the 
smaller  of  which,  surrounded  by  curtains  of  a  coarse  canvas, 
veiled  from  the  eyes  of  the  profane  the  penetralia  of  this 
movable  temple  of  Esculapius,  for  such  it  was.  Within  its 
interior,  and  secure  from  vulgar  curiosity,  the  Quack-salver 


106  MRS.  BOTHERBTS  STORY. 

had  hitherto  kept  himself  ensconced ;  occupied,  no  doubt,  in 
the  preparation  and  arrangement  of  that  wonderful  panacea 
•which  was  hereafter  to  shed  the  blessings  of  health  among  the 
admiring  crowd.     Meanwhile  his  attendant  Jack-pudding  was 
busily  employed  on  the  proscenium,  doing  his  best  to  attract 
attention  by  a  practical  facetiousness  which  took  wonderfully 
with  the  spectators,  interspersing  it  with  the  melodious  notes  of 
a  huge  cow's  horn.     The  fellow's  costume  varied  but  little  in 
character  from  that  in  which  the  late  (alas!  that  we  should 
have  to  write  the  word — late !)  Mr.  Joseph  Grimaldi  was  ac- 
customed to  present  himself  before  "a  generous  and  enlightened 
public ;"  the  principal  difference  consisted  in  this,  that  the  upper 
garment  was  a  long  white  tunic,  of  a  coarse  linen,  surmounted 
by  a  caricature  of  the  ruff  then  fast  falling  into  disuse,  and  was 
secured  from  the  throat  downwards  by  a  single  row  of  broad 
white  metal  buttons;  and  his  legs  were  cased  in  loose  wide 
trousers  of  the  same  material ;  while  his  sleeves,  prolonged  to  a 
most  disproportionate  extent,  descended  far  below  the  fingers, 
and  acted  as  flappers  in  the  somersets  and  caracoles  with  which 
he  diversified  and  enlivened  his  antics.     Consummate  impu- 
dence, not  altogether  unmixed  with  a  certain  sly  humor,  spar- 
kled in  his  eye  through  the  chalk  and  ochre  with  which  his 
features  were  plentifully  bedaubed ;   and  especially  displayed 
itself  in  a  succession  of  jokes,  the  coarseness  of  which  did  not 
seem  to  detract  from  their  merit  in  the  eyes  of  his  applauding 
audience. 

He  was  in  the  midst  of  a  long  and  animated  harangue  ex- 
planatory of  his  master's  high  pretensions;  he  had  informed 
his  gaping  auditors  that  the  latter  was  the  seventh  son  of  a 
seventh  son,  and  of  course,  as  they  very  well  knew,  an  Unborn 
Doctor;  that  to  this  happy  accident  of  birth  he  added  the 
advantage  of  most  extensive  travel;  that  in  his  search  after 
science  he  had  not  only  perambulated  the  whole  of  this  world, 
but  had  trespassed  on  the  boundaries  of  the  next ;  that  the 
depths  of  the  Ocean  and  the  bowels  of  the  Earth  were  alike 
familiar  to  him ;  that  besides  salves  and  cataplasms  of  sovereign 
virtue,  by  combining  sundry  mosses,  gathered  many  thousand 
fathoms  below  the  surface  of  the  sea,  with  certain  unknown 
drugs  found  in  an  undiscovered  island,  and  boiling  the  whole 


TEE  LEECH  OF  FOLKESTONE.  107 

in  the  lava  of  Vesuvius,  he  had  succeeded  in  producing  his 
celebrated  balsam  of  Crackapanoko,  the  never-failing  remedy 
for  all  human  disorders,  and  which,  a  proper  trial  allowed, 
would  go  near  to  reanimate  the  dead.  "  Draw  near !"  continued 
the  worthy,  "  draw  near,  my  masters !  and  you,  my  good  mis- 
tresses, draw  near,  every  one  of  you.  Fear  not  high  and  haughty 
carriage :  though  greater  than  King  or  Kaiser,  yet  is  the  mighty 
Aldrovando  milder  than  mother's  milk ;  flint  to  the  proud,  to 
the  humble  he  is  as  melting  wax ;  he  asks  not  your  disorders, 
he  sees  them  himself  at  a  glance — nay,  without  a  glance ;  he 
tells  your  ailments  with  his  eyes  shut ! — Draw  near!  draw  near! 
the  more  incurable  the  better !  List  to  the  illustrious  Doctor 
Aldrovando,  first  physician  to  Prester  John,  Leech  to  the  Grand 
Llama,  and  Hakim  in  Ordinary  to  Mustapha  Muley  Bey!" 

"Hath  your  master  ever  a  charm  for  the  toothache,  an't 
please  you  ?"  asked  an  elderly  countryman,  whose  swollen  cheek 
bespoke  his  interest  in  the  question. 

"  A  charm ! — a  thousand,  and  every  one  of  them  infallible. 
Toothache,  quotha !  I  had  hoped  you  had  come  with  every 
bone  in  your  body  fractured  or  out  of  joint.  A  toothache ! — 
propound  a  tester,  master  o'  mine — we  ask  not  more  for  such 
trifles  :  do  my  bidding,  and  thy  jaws,  even  with  the  word,  shall 
cease  to  trouble  thee !" 

The  clown,  fumbling  a  while  in  a  deep  leathern  purse,  at 
length  produced  a  sixpence,  which  he  tendered  to  the  jester. 
"  Now  to  thy  master,  and  bring  me  the  charm  forthwith." 

"  Nay,  honest  man ;  to  disturb  the  mighty  Aldrovando  on 
such  slight  occasion  were  pity  of  my  life :  areed  my  counsel 
aright,  and  I  will  warrant  thee  for  the  nonce.  Hie  thee  home, 
friend ;  infuse  this  powder  in  cold  spring-water,  fill  thy  mouth 
with  the  mixture,  and  sit  upon  the  fire  till  it  boils !" 

"  Out  on  thee  for  a  pestilent  knave !"  cried  the  cozened  coun- 
tryman ;  but  the  roar  of  merriment  around  bespoke  the  by- 
standers well  pleased  with  the  jape  put  upon  him.  He  retired, 
venting  his  spleen  in  audible  murmurs ;  and  the  mountebank, 
finding  the  feelings  of  the  mob  enlisted  on  his  side,  waxed  more 
impudent  every  instant,  filling  up  the  intervals  between  his 
fooleries  with  sundry  capers  and  contortions  and  discordant 
notes  from  the  cow's  horn. 


108  MRS.  BOTHERBF'S  STORY. 

"  Draw  near,  draw  near,  my  masters !  Here  have  ye  a  rem- 
edy for  every  evil  under  the  sun,  moral,  physical,  natural,  and 
supernatural !  Hath  any  man  a  termagant  wife  ? — here  is  that 
will  tame  her  presently !  Hath  any  one  a  smoky  chimney  ? — 
here  is  an  incontinent  cure!" 

To  the  first  infliction  no  man  ventured  to  plead  guilty,  though 
there  were  those  standing  by  who  thought  their  neighbors  might 
have  profited  withal.  For  the  last-named  recipe  started  forth 
at  least  half  a  dozen  candidates.  With  the  greatest  gravity 
imaginable,  Pierrot,  having  pocketed  their  groats,  delivered  to 
each  a  small  packet  curiously  folded  and  closely  sealed,  con- 
taining, as  he  averred,  directions  which,  if  truly  observed, 
would  preclude  any  chimney  from  smoking  for  a  whole  year. 
They  whose  curiosity  led  them  to  dive  into  the  mystery  found 
that  a  sprig  of  mountain  ash  culled  by  moonlight  was  the  charm 
recommended,  coupled,  however,  with  the  proviso  that  no  fire 
should  be  lighted  on  the  hearth  during  its  exercise. 

The  frequent  bursts  of  merriment  proceeding  from  this  quar- 
ter at  length  attracted  the  attention  of  Master  Marsh,  whose 
line  of  road  necessarily  brought  him  near  this  end  of  the  fair ; 
he  drew  bit  in  front  of  the  stage  just  as  its  noisy  occupant, 
having  laid  aside  his  formidable  horn,  w^as  drawing  still  more 
largely  on  the  amazement  of  "  the  public  "  by  a  feat  of  especial 
wonder, — he  was  eating  fire !  Curiosity  mingled  Avith  astonish- 
ment was  at  its  height ;  and  feelings  not  unallied  to  alarm  were 
beginning  to  manifest  themselves,  among  the  softer  sex  espe- 
cially, as  they  gazed  on  the  flames  that  issued  from  the  mouth 
of  the  living  volcano.  All  eyes,  indeed,  were  fixed  upon  the 
fire-eater  with  an  intentness  that  left  no  room  for  observing 
another  worthy  who  had  now  emerged  upon  the  scene.  This 
was,  however,  no  less  a  personage  than  the  Deiis  ex  machind, — 
the  illustrious  Aldrovando  himself. 

Short  in  stature  and  spare  in  form,  the  sage  had  somewhat 
increased  the  former  by  a  steeple-crowned  hat  adorned  with  a 
cock's  feather ;  while  the  thick  shoulder-padding  of  a  quilted 
doublet,  surmounted  by  a  falling  band,  added  a  little  to  his 
personal  importance  in  point  of  breadth.  His  habit  was  com- 
posed throughout  of  black  serge,  relieved  with  scarlet  slashes  in 
the  sleeves  and  trunks ;  red  was  the  feather  in  his  hat,  red  were 


THE  LEECH  OF  FOLKESTONE.  109 

the  roses  in  his  shoes,  which  rejoiced,  moreover,  in  a  pair  of  red 
heels.  The  lining  of  a  short  cloak  of  faded  velvet,  that  hung 
transversely  over  his  left  shoulder,  was  also  red.  Indeed,  from 
all  that  we  could  ever  see  or  hear,  this  agreeable  alternation  of 
red  and  black  appears  to  be  the  mixture  of  colors  most  approved 
at  the  court  of  Beelzebub,  and  the  one  most  generally  adopted 
by  his  friends  and  favorites.  His  features  were  sharp  and 
shrewd,  and  a  fire  sparkled  in  his  keen  gray  eye,  much  at 
variance  with  the  wrinkles  that  ran  their  irregular  furrows 
above  his  prominent  and  bushy  brows.  He  had  advanced 
slowly  from  behind  his  screen  while  the  attention  of  the  mul- 
titude was  absorbed  by  the  pyrotechnics  of  Mr.  Merry  man,  and 
stationing  himself  at  the  extreme  corner  of  the  stage,  stood 
quietly  leaning  on  a  crutch-handle  walking-stafi*  of  blackest 
ebony,  his  glance  steadily  fixed  on  the  face  of  Marsh,  from 
whose  countenance  the  amusement  he  had  insensibly  begun  to 
derive  had  not  succeeded  in  removing  all  traces  of  bodily 
pain. 

For  a  while  the  latter  was  unobservant  of  the  inquisitorial 
survey  with  which  he  was  regarded ;  the  eyes  of  the  parties, 
however,  at  length  met.  The  brown  mare  had  a  fine  shoulder ; 
she  stood  pretty  nearly  sixteen  hands.  Marsh  himself,  though 
slightly  bowed  by  ill-health  and  the  "coming  autumn"  of  life, 
was  full  six  feet  in  height.  His  elevation  giving  him  an  un- 
obstructed view  over  the  heads  of  the  pedestrians,  he  had  nat- 
urally fallen  into  the  rear  of  the  assembly,  which  brought  him 
close  to  the  diminutive  Doctor,  with  whose  face,  despite  the  red 
heels,  his  own  was  about  upon  a  level. 

"  And  what  makes  Master  Marsh  here  ?  what  sees  he  in  the 
mummeries  of  a  miserable  buffoon  to  divert  him  when  his  life 
is  in  jeopardy?"  said  a  shrill  cracked  voice  that  sounded  as  in 
his  very  ear.     It  was  the  Doctor  who  spoke. 

"  Knowest  thou  me,  friend  ?"  said  Marsh,  scanning  with 
awakened  interest  the  figure  of  his  questioner:  "I  call  thee 
not  to  mind ;  and  yet — stay,  where  have  we  met  ?" 

"  It  skills  not  to  declare,"  was  the  answer ;  "  suffice  it  we  have 
met — in  other  climes  perchance — and  now  meet  happily  again — 
happily  at  least  for  thee." 

"Why,  truly  the  trick  of  thy  countenance  reminds  me  of 


110  MRS.  BOTHERBY'S  STORY. 

somewhat  I  have  Been  before ;  where  or  when  I  know  not :  but 
what  wouldst  thou  with  me  ?" 

"  Nay,  rather  what  wouklst  thou  here,  Thomas  Marsh?  "What 
wouldst  thou  on  the  Frith  of  Aldington  ?  Is  it  a  score  or  two 
of  paltry  sheep?  or  is  it  something  nearer  to  thy  heart?" 

Marsh  started  as  the  last  words  were  pronounced  with  more 
than  common  significance:  a  pang  shot  through  him  at  the 
moment,  and  the  vinegar  aspect  of  the  charlatan  seemed  to 
relax  into  a  smile  half  compassionate,  half  sardonic. 

"Grammercy,"  quoth  Marsh,  after  a  long-drawn  breath, 
"  what  knowest  thou  of  me,  fellow,  or  of  my  concerns  ?  What 
knowest  thou " 

"This  know  I,  Master  Thomas  Marsh,"  said  the  stranger 
gravely,  "  that  thy  life  is  even  now  perilled,  evil  practices  are 
against  thee ;  but  no  matter,  thou  art  quit  for  the  nonce — other 
hands  than  mine  have  saved  thee !  Thy  pains  are  over.  Hark! 
the  clock  strikes  One!"  As  he  spoke,  a  single  toll  from  the  bell- 
tower  of  Bilsington  came,  wafted  by  the  western  breeze,  over 
the  thick-set  and  lofty  oaks  which  intervened  between  the  Frith 
and  what  had  once  been  a  priory.  Doctor  Aldrovando  turned 
as  the  sound  came  floating  on  the  wind,  and  Avas  moving,  as  if 
half  in  anger,  towards  the  other  side  of  the  stage,  where  the 
mountebank,  his  fires  extinct,  was  now  disgorging  to  the  admir- 
ing crowd  yard  after  yard  of  gaudy-colored  ribbon. 

"  Stay !  Nay,  prithee  stay !"  cried  Marsh,  eagerly.  "  I  was 
wrong ;  in  faith  I  was.  A  change,  and  that  a  sudden  and  most 
marvellous,  hath  indeed  come  over  me;  I  am  free;  I  breathe 
again;  I  feel  as  though  a  load  of  years  had  been  removed; 
and,  is  it  possible  ? — hast  thou  done  this  ?" 

"  Thomas  Marsh  !"  said  the  Doctor,  pausing,  and  turning  for 
the  moment  on  his  heel,  "  I  have  not:  I  repeat,  that  other  and 
more  innocent  hands  than  mine  have  done  this  deed.  Never- 
theless, heed  my  counsel  well !  Thou  art  parlously  encompassed ; 
I,  and  I  only,  have  the  means  of  relieving  thee.  Follow  thy 
courses ;  pursue  thy  journey ;  but  as  thou  vainest  life  and  more 
than  life,  be  at  the  foot  of  yonder  woody  knoll  what  time  the 
rising  moon  throws  her  first  beam  upon  the  bare  and  blighted 
summit  that  towers  above  its  trees." 

He  crossed  abruptly  to  the  opposite  quarter  of  the  scaffolding, 


TEE  LEECE   OF  FOLKESTONE.  Ill 

and  was  in  an  instant  deeply  engaged  in  listening  to  those  whom 
the  cow's  horn  had  attracted,  and  in  prescribing  for  their  real 
or  fancied  ailments.  Vain  were  all  Marsh's  efforts  again  to 
attract  his  notice ;  it  was  evident  that  he  studiously  avoided 
him ;  and  when,  after  an  hour  or  more  spent  in  useless  en- 
deavor, he  saw  the  object  of  his  anxiety  seclude  himself  once 
more  within  his  canvas  screen,  he  rode  slowly  and  thoughtfully 
off  the  field. 

"What  should  he  do  ?  Was  the  man  a  mere  quack  ?  an  im- 
postor ?  His  name  thus  obtained !  that  might  be  easily  done. 
But  then,  his  secret  griefs ;  the  Doctor's  knowledge  of  them ; 
their  cure :  for  he  felt  that  his  pains  were  gone,  his  healthful 
feelings  restored ! 

True,  Aldrovando,  if  that  were  his  name,  had  disclaimed 
all  co-operation  in  his  recovery ;  but  he  knew,  or  he  at  least  an- 
nounced it.  Nay,  more ;  he  had  hinted  that  he  was  yet  in  jeop- 
ardy ;  that  practices — and  the  chord  sounded  strangely  in 
unison  Avith  one  that  had  before  vibrated  within  him — that 
practices  were  in  operation  against  his  life !  It  was  enough ! 
He  would  keep  tryst  with  the  Conjurer,  if  conjurer  he  were; 
and,  at  least,  ascertain  who  and  what  he  was,  and  how  he  had 
become  acquainted  with  his  own  person  and  secret  afilictions. 

"When  the  late  Mr.  Pitt  was  determined  to  keep  out  Buona- 
parte, and  prevent  his  gaining  a  settlement  in  the  county  of 
Kent,  among  other  ingenious  devices  adopted  for  that  purpose, 
he  caused  to  be  constructed  what  was  then,  and  has  ever  since 
been,  conventionally  termed  a  "  Military  Canal."  This  is  a  not 
very  practicable  ditch,  some  thirty  feet  wide,  and  nearly  nine 
feet  deep  in  the  middle,  extending  from  the  town  and  port  of 
Hithe  to  within  a  mile  of  the  town  and  port  of  Rye,  a  distance 
of  about  twenty  miles ;  and  forming,  as  it  were,  the  cord  of  a 
bow,  the  arc  of  which  constitutes  that  remote  fifth  quarter  of 
the  globe  spoken  of  by  travellers.  Trivial  objections  to  the 
plan  were  made  at  the  time  by  cavillers ;  and  an  old  gentleman 
of  the  neighborhood,  who  proposed,  as  a  cheap  substitute,  to 
put  down  his  own  cocked  hat  upon  a  pole,  was  deservedly  pooh- 
poohed  down ;  in  fact,  the  job,  though  rather  an  expensive  one, 
was  found  to  answer  remarkably  well.  The  French  managed, 
indeed,  to  scramble  over  the  Khine,  and  the  Rhone,  and  other 


112  MRS.  BOTHERBY'S  STORY. 

insignificant  currents ;  but  they  never  did,  or  could,  pass  Mr. 
Pitt's  "  Military  Canal."  At  no  great  distance  from  the  centre 
of  this  cord  rises  abruptly  a  sort  of  woody  promontory,  in  shape 
almost  conical ;  its  sides  covered  with  thick  underwood,  above 
which  is  seen  a  bare  and  brown  summit  rising  like  an  Alp  in 
miniature.  The  "  defence  of  the  nation  "  not  being  then  in  ex- 
istence, Master  Marsh  met  with  no  obstruction  in  reaching  this 
place  of  appointment  long  before  the  time  prescribed. 

So  much,  indeed,  was  his  mind  occupied  by  his  adventure 
and  extraordinary  cure  that  his  original  design  had  been  aban- 
doned, and  Master  Cobb  remained  unvisited.  A  rude  hostel 
in  the  neighborhood  furnished  entertainment  for  man  and 
horse ;  and  here,  a  full  hour  before  the  rising  of  the  moon,  he 
left  Ealph  and  the  other  beasts,  proceeding  to  his  rendezvous 
on  foot  and  alone. 

"You  are  punctual,  Master  Marsh,"  squeaked  the  shrill 
voice  of  the  Doctor,  issuing  from  the  thicket  as  the  first  silvery 
gleam  trembled  on  the  aspens  above.  "  'Tis  well ;  now  follow 
me,  and  in  silence." 

The  first  part  of  the  command  Marsh  hesitated  not  to  obey ; 
the  second  was  more  difficult  of  observance. 

"  Who  and  what  are  you  ?  Whither  are  you  leading  me  ?" 
burst  not  unnaturally  from  his  lips ;  but  all  question  was  at 
once  cut  short  by  the  peremptory  tones  of  his  guide. 

"  Hush !  I  say ;  your  finger  on  your  lip :  there  be  hawks 
abroad.  Follow  me,  and  that  silently  and  quickly."  The 
little  man  turned  as  he  spoke,  and  led  the  way  through  a 
scarcely  perceptible  path,  or  track,  which  wound  among  the 
underwood.  The  lapse  of  a  few  minutes  brought  them  to  the 
door  of  a  low  building,  so  hidden  by  the  surrounding  trees  that 
few  would  have  suspected  its  existence.  It  was  a  cottage  of 
rather  extraordinary  dimensions,  but  consisting  of  only  one 
floor.  No  smoke  rose  from  its  solitary  chimney ;  no  cheering 
ray  streamed  from  its  single  windoAV,  which  was,  however, 
secured  by  a  shutter  of  such  thickness  as  to  preclude  the  pos- 
sibility of  any  stray  beam  issuing  from  within.  The  exact  size 
of  the  building  it  was,  in  that  uncertain  light,  diflBcult  to  dis- 
tinguish, a  portion  of  it  seeming  buried  in  the  wood  behind. 
The  door  gave  way  on  the  application  of  a  key,  and  Marsh  fol- 


THE  LEECH  OF  FOLKESTONE.  113 

lowed  his  conductor  resolutely,  but  cautiously,  along  a  narrow 
passage,  feebly  lighted  by  a  small  taper  that  winked  and 
twinkled  at  its  farther  extremity.  The  Doctor,  as  he  ap- 
proached, raised  it  from  the  ground,  and,  opening  an  adjoining 
door,  ushered  his  guest  into  the  room  beyond. 

It  was  a  large  and  oddly  furnished  apartment,  insufficiently 
lighted  by  an  iron  lamp  that  hung  from  the  roof,  and  scarcely 
illumined  the  walls  and  angles,  which  seemed  to  be  composed 
of  some  dark-colored  wood.  On  one  side,  however.  Master 
Marsh  could  discover  an  article  bearing  strong  resemblance  to 
a  coffin ;  on  the  other  was  a  large  oval  mirror  in  an  ebony 
frame;  and  in  the  midst  of  the  floor  was  described,  in  red 
chalk,  a  double  circle,  about  six  feet  in  diameter,  its  inner 
verge  inscribed  with  sundry  hieroglyphics,  agreeably  relieved 
at  intervals  with  an  alternation  of  skulls  and  cross-bones.  In 
the  very  centre  was  deposited  one  skull  of  such  surpassing  size 
and  thickness  as  would  have  filled  the  soul  of  a  Spurzheim  or 
De  Ville  with  wonderment.  A  large  book,  a  naked  sword,  an 
hour-glass,  a  chafing-dish,  and  a  black  cat,  completed  the  list 
of  movables, — with  the  exception  of  a  couple  of  tapers  which 
stood  on  each  side  of  the  mirror,  and  which  the  strange  gen- 
tleman now  proceeded  to  light  from  the  one  in  his  hand.  As 
they  flared  up  with  what  Marsh  thought  a  most  unnatural  bril- 
liancy, he  perceived  reflected  in  the  glass  behind  a  dial  sus- 
pended over  the  coffin-like  article  already  mentioned ;  the  hand 
was  fast  verging  towards  the  hour  of  nine.  The  eyes  of  the 
little  Doctor  seemed  riveted  on  the  horologe. 

"  Now  strip  thee,  Master  Marsh,  and  that  quickly :  untruss, 
I  say !  discard  thy  boots,  dofi*  doublet  and  hose,  and  place  thy- 
self incontinent  in  yonder  bath." 

The  visitor  cast  his  eyes  again  upon  the  formidable-looking 
article,  and  perceived  that  it  was  nearly  filled  with  water.  A 
cold  bath,  at  such  an  hour  and  under  such  auspices,  was  any- 
thing but  inviting:  he  hesitated,  and  turned  his  eyes  alter- 
nately on  the  Doctor  and  the  Black  Cat. 

"  Trifle  not  the  time,  man,  an  you  be  wise,"  said  the  former. 
"  Passion  of  my  heart !  let  but  yon  minute-hand  reach  the  hour, 
and  thou  not  immersed,  thy  life  were  not  worth  a  pin's  fee !" 

The  Black  Cat  gave  vent  to  a  single  mew, — a  most  unnatural 
8 


114  MRS.  BOTHERBT'S  STORY. 

Bound  for  a  mouser:   it  seemed  as  it  were  mewed  through  a 
cow's  horn. 

"  Quick,  Master  Marsh !  uncase,  or  you  perish !"  repeated 
his  strange  host,  throwing  as  he  spoke  a  handful  of  some 
dingy-looking  powders  into  the  brasier.  "  Behold,  the  attack 
is  begun !"  A  thick  cloud  rose  from  the  embers ;  a  cold  shiv- 
ering shook  the  astonished  Yeoman ;  sharp  pricking  pains  pen- 
etrated his  ankles  and  the  palms  of  his  hands;  and  as  the 
smoke  cleared  away,  he  distinctly  saw  and  recognized  in  the 
mirror  the  boudoir  of  Marston  Hall. 

The  doors  of  the  well-known  ebony  cabinet  were  closed ;  but 
fixed  against  them,  and  standing  out  in  strong  relief  from  the 
contrast  afforded  by  the  sable  background,  was  a  waxen  im- 
age— of  himself!  It  appeared  to  be  secured,  and  sustained  in 
an  upright  posture,  by  large  black  pins  driven  through  the  feet 
and  palms,  the  latter  of  which  were  extended  in  a  cruciform 
position.  To  the  right  and  left  stood  his  wife  and  Jose ;  in  the 
middle,  with  his  back  towards  him,  was  a  figure  which  he  had 
no  difficulty  in  recognizing  as  that  of  the  Leech  of  Folkestone. 
The  latter  had  just  succeeded  in  fastening  the  dexter  hand  of 
the  image,  and  was  now  in  the  act  of  drawing  a  broad  and 
keen-edged  sabre  from  its  sheath.  The  Black  Cat  mewed 
again.  "  Haste,  or  you  die !"  said  the  Doctor.  Marsh  looked 
at  the  dial ;  it  wanted  but  four  minutes  of  nine :  he  felt  that 
the  crisis  of  his  fate  was  come.  Off  went  his  heavy  boots; 
doublet  to  the  right,  galligaskins  to  the  left ;  never  was  man 
more  swiftly  disrobed.  In  two  minutes,  to  use  an  Indian  ex- 
pression, he  was  "  all  face ;"  in  another  he  was  on  his  back  and 
up  to  his  chin  in  a  bath  which  smelt  strongly  as  of  brimstone 
and  garlic. 

"  Heed  well  the  clock !"  cried  the  Conjurer.  "  With  the  first 
stroke  of  Nine  plunge  thy  head  beneath  the  water, — suffer  not 
a  hair  above  the  surface :  plunge  deeply,  or  thou  art  lost !" 

The  little  man  had  seated  himself  in  the  centre  of  the  circle 
upon  the  large  skull,  elevating  his  legs  at  an  angle  of  forty-five 
degrees.  In  this  position  he  spun  round  with  a  velocity  to  be 
equalled  only  by  that  of  a  teetotum,  the  red  roses  on  his  insteps 
seeming  to  describe  a  circle  of  fire.  The  best  buckskins  that 
ever  mounted  at  Melton  had  soon  yielded  to  such  rotatory  fric- 


TEE  LEECH  OF  FOLKESTONE.  115 

tion ;  but  he  spun  on ;  the  cat  mewed,  bats  and  obscene  birds 
fluttered  overhead ;  Erasmus  was  seen  to  raise  his  weapon ;  the 
clock  struck ! — and  Marsh,  who  had  "  ducked  "  at  the  instant, 
popped  up  his  head  again,  spitting  and  sputtering,  half  choked 
with  the  infernal  solution,  which  had  insinuated  itself  into  his 
mouth  and  ears  and  nose.  All  disgust  at  his  nauseous  dip  was, 
however,  at  once  removed  when,  casting  his  eyes  on  the  glass, 
he  saw  the  consternation  of  the  party  whose  persons  it  exhib- 
ited. Erasmus  had  evidently  made  his  blow  and  failed;  the 
figure  was  unmutilated ;  the  hilt  remained  in  the  hand  of  the 
striker,  while  the  shivered  blade  lay  in  shining  fragments  on 
the  floor. 

The  Conjurer  ceased  his  spinning  and  brought  himself  to  an 
anchor;  the  Black  Cat  purred:  its  purring  seemed  strangely 
mixed  with  the  self-satisfied  chuckle  of  a  human  being.  Where 
had  Marsh  heard  something  like  it  before  ? 

He  was  rising  from  his  unsavory  couch  when  a  motion  from 
the  little  man  checked  him.  "  Rest  where  you  are,  Thomas 
Marsh :  so  far  all  goes  well,  but  the  danger  is  not  yet  over." 
He  looked  again,  and  perceived  that  the  shadowy  triumvirate 
were  in  deep  and  eager  consultation;  the  fragments  of  the 
shattered  weapon  appeared  to  undergo  a  close  scrutiny.  The 
result  was  clearly  unsatisfactory ;  the  lips  of  the  parties  moved 
rapidly,  and  much  gesticulation  might  be  observed,  but  no 
sound  fell  upon  the  ear.  The  hand  of  the  dial  had  nearly 
reached  the  quarter :  at  once  the  parties  separated ;  and  Buck- 
thorne  stood  again  before  the  figure,  his  hand  armed  with  a 
long  and  sharp-pointed  misericorde,  a  dagger  little  in  use  of 
late,  but  such  as,  a  century  before,  often  performed  the  part  of 
a  modern  oyster-knife  in  tickling  the  osteology  of  a  dismounted 
cavalier  through  the  shelly  defences  of  his  plate  armor.  Again 
he  raised  his  arm.  "  Duck !"  roared  the  Doctor,  spinning  away 
upon  his  cephalic  pivot : — the  Black  Cat  cocked  his  tail,  and 
seemed  to  mew  the  word  "  Duck !"  Down  went  Master  Marsh's 
head ;  one  of  his  hands  had  unluckily  been  resting  on  the  edge 
of  the  bath ;  he  drew  it  hastily  in,  but  not  altogether  scathe- 
less :  the  stump  of  a  rusty  nail,  projecting  from  the  margin  of 
the  bath,  had  caught  and  slightly  grazed  it.  The  pain  was 
more  acute  than  is  usually  produced  by  such  trivial  accidents ; 


116  MRS.  BOTHERBrS  STORY. 

and  Marsh,  on  once  more  raising  his  head,  beheld  the  dagger 
of  the  Leech  sticking  in  the  little  finger  of  the  wax  figure, 
which  it  had  seemingly  nailed  to  the  cabinet  door. 

"  By  my  truly,  a  scape  of  the  narrowest !"  quoth  the  Conjurer. 
"  The  next  course,  dive  you  not  the  readier,  there  is  no  more  life 
in  you  than  in  a  pickled  herring.  What !  courage,  Master  Marsh ; 
but  be  heedful :  an  they  miss  again,  let  them  bide  the  issue !" 

He  drew  his  hand  athwart  his  brow  as  he  spoke,  and  dashed 
oflT  the  perspiration  which  the  violence  of  his  exercise  had  drawn 
from  every  pore.  Black  Tom  sprang  upon  the  edge  of  the  bath 
and  stared  full  in  the  face  of  the  bather.  His  sea-green  eyes 
were  lambent  with  unholy  fire,  but  their  marvellous  obliquity 
of  vision  was  not  to  be  mistaken ; — the  very  countenance  too ! 
Could  it  be  ? — the  features  were  feline,  but  their  expression  was 
that  of  the  Jack-pudding!  Was  the  mountebank  a  cat?  or 
the  cat  a  mountebank  ?  It  was  all  a  mystery ! — and  Heaven 
knows  how  long  Marsh  might  have  continued  staring  at  Grim- 
alkin had  not  his  attention  been  again  called  by  Aldrovando 
to  the  magic  mirror. 

Great  dissatisfaction,  not  to  say  dismay,  seemed  now  to  per- 
vade the  conspirators.  Dame  Isabel  was  closely  inspecting  the 
figure's  wounded  hand,  while  Jose  was  aiding  the  pharmacopo- 
list  to  charge  a  huge  petronel  with  powder  and  bullets.  The 
load  was  a  heavy  one ;  but  Erasmus  seemed  determined  this 
time  to  make  sure  of  his  object.  Somewhat  of  trepidation 
might  be  observed  in  his  manner  as  he  rammed  down  the  balls, 
and  his  withered  cheek  appeared  to  have  acquired  an  increase 
of  paleness ;  but  amazement  rather  than  fear  was  the  prevailing 
symptom,  and  his  countenance  betrayed  no  jot  of  irresolution. 
As  the  clock  was  about  to  chime  half-past  nine,  he  planted 
himself  with  a  firm  foot  in  front  of  the  image,  waved  his  un- 
occupied hand  with  a  cautionary  gesture  to  his  companions, 
and,  as  they  hastily  retired  on  either  side,  brought  the  muzzle 
of  his  weapon  within  half  a  foot  of  his  mark.  As  the  shadowy 
form  was  about  to  draw  the  trigger,  Marsh  again  plunged  his 
head  beneath  the  surface ;  and  the  sound  of  an  explosion,  as  of 
fire-arms,  mingled  with  the  rush  of  water  that  poured  into  his 
ears.  His  immersion  was  but  momentary,  yet  did  he  feel  as 
though  half  sufibcated :  he  sprang  from  the  bath,  and,  as  his 


TEE  LEECH  OF  FOLKESTONE.  117 

eye  fell  on  the  mirror,  he  saw, — or  thought  he  saw, — the  Leech 
of  Folkestone  lying  dead  on  the  floor  of  his  wife's  boudoir,  his 
head  shattered  to  pieces,  and  his  hand  still  grasping  the  stock 
of  a  bursten  petronel. 

He  saw  no  more ;  his  head  swam,  his  senses  reeled,  the  whole 
room  was  turning  round,  and,  as  he  fell  to  the  ground,  the  last 
impressions  to  which  he  was  conscious  were  the  chucklings  of  a 
hoarse  laughter,  and  the  mewings  of  a  torn  cat ! 

Master  Marsh  was  found  the  next  morning  by  his  bewildered 
serving-man,  stretched  before  the  door  of  the  humble  hostel  at 
which  he  sojourned.  His  clothes  were  somewhat  torn  and 
much  bemired ;  and  deeply  did  honest  Ralph  marvel  that  one 
so  staid  and  grave  as  Master  Marsh  of  Marston  should  thus 
have  played  the  roisterer,  missing,  perchance,  a  profitable 
bargain  for  the  drunken  orgies  of  midnight  wassail,  or  the 
endearments  of  some  rustic  light-o'-love.  Tenfold  was  his 
astonishment  increased  when,  after  retracing  in  silence  their 
journey  of  the  preceding  day,  the  Hall,  on  their  arrival  about 
noon,  was  found  in  a  state  of  the  uttermost  confusion.  No 
wife  stood  there  to  greet  with  the  smile  of  bland  affection  her 
returning  spouse ;  no  page  to  hold  his  stirrup,  or  receive  his 
gloves,  his  hat,  and  riding-rod.  The  doors  were  open,  the  rooms 
in  most  admired  disorder ;  men  and  maidens  peeping,  hurrying 
hither  and  thither,  and  popping  in  and  out,  like  rabbits  in  a 
warren.     The  lady  of  the  mansion  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 

Jose,  too,  had  disappeared ;  the  latter  had  been  last  seen 
riding  furiously  towards  Folkestone  early  in  the  preceding 
afternoon :  to  a  question  from  Hodge  Gardener  he  had  hastUy 
answered  that  he  bore  a  missive  of  moment  from  his  mistress. 
The  lean  apprentice  of  Erasmus  Buckthorne  declared  that  the 
page  had  summoned  his  master,  in  haste,  about  six  of  the 
clock,  and  that  they  had  rode  forth  together,  as  he  verily 
believed,  on  their  way  back  to  the  Hall,  where  he  had  supposed 
Master  Buckthorne's  services  to  be  suddenly  required  on  some 
pressing  emergency.  Since  that  time  he  had  seen  nought  of 
either  of  them;  the  gray  cob,  however,  had  returned  late  at 
night,  masterless,  with  his  girths  loose  and  the  saddle  turned 
upside  down. 

Nor  was  Master  Erasmus  Buckthorne  ever  seen  again.    Strict 


118  MRS.  BOTHERBY'S  STORY. 

Bearch  was  made  tlirough  the  neighborhood,  but  without  suc- 
cess ;  and  it  was  at  length  presumed  that  he  must,  for  reasons 
which  nobody  could  divine,  have  absconded,  together  with 
Jose  and  his  faithless  mistress.  The  latter  had  carried  off  with 
her  the  strong  box,  divers  articles  of  valuable  plate,  and  jewels 
of  price.  Her  boudoir  appeared  to  have  been  completely- 
ransacked  ;  the  cabinet  and  drawers  stood  open  and  empty ; 
the  very  carpet,  a  luxury  then  new^y  introduced  into  England, 
was  gone.  Marsh,  however,  could  trace  no  vestige  of  the 
visionary  scene  which  he  affirmed  to  have  been  last  night 
presented  to  his  eyes. 

Much  did  the  neighbors  marvel  at  his  story  : — some  thought 
him  mad ;  others  that  he  was  merely  indulging  in  that  privilege 
to  which,  as  a  traveller,  he  had  a  right  indefeasible.     Trusty 
Ealph  said  nothing,  but  shrugged  his  shoulders ;  and,  falling 
into  the  rear,  imitated  the  action  of  raising  a  wine-cup  to  his 
lips.     An  opinion,  indeed,  soon  prevailed  that  Master  Thomas 
Marsh  had  gotten,  in  common  parlance,  exceedingly  drunk  on 
the  preceding  evening,  and  had  dreamt  all  that  he  so  circum- 
stantially   related.      This    belief   acquired    additional    credit 
when  they  whom  curiosity  induced  to  visit   the  woody  knoll 
of  Aldington  Mount  declared  that  they  could  find  no  building 
such  as  that  described,  nor  any  cottage  near ;  save  one,  indeed, 
a  low-roofed  hovel,  once  a  house  of  public  entertainment,  but 
now  half  in  ruins.     The  "Old  Cat  and  Fiddle"— so  was  the 
tenement  called— had  been  long  uninhabited ;  yet  still  exhib- 
ited the  remains  of  a  broken  sign,  on  which  the  keen  observer 
might  decipher  something  like  a  rude  portrait  of  the  animal 
from  which  it  derived  its  name.     It  was  also  supposed  still  to 
afford  an  occasional  asylum  to  the  smugglers  of  the  coast,  but 
no  trace  of  any  visit  from  sage  or  mountebank  could  be  de- 
tected ;  nor  was  the  wise  Aldrovando,  whom  many  remembered 
to  have  seen  at  the  fair,  ever  found  again  on  all  that  country-side. 
Of  the  runaways  nothing  was   ever   certainly  known.     A 
boat,  the  property  of  an  old  fisherman  who  plied  his  trade  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  town,  had  been  seen  to  quit  the  bay  that 
night ;  and  there  were  those  who  declared  that  she  had  more 
hands  on  board  than  Garden  and  his  son,  her  usual  comple- 
ment;   but  as   the  gale    came  on,   and   the   frail   bark  was 


THE  LEECH  OF  FOLKESTONE. 


119 


eventually  found  keel  upwards  on  the  Goodwin  Sands,  it  was 
presumed  that  she  had  struck  on  that  fatal  quicksand  in  the 
dark,  and  that  all  on  board  had  perished. 

Little  Marian,  whom  her  profligate  mother  had  abandoned, 
grew  up  to  be  a  fine  girl,  and  a  handsome.  She  became,  more- 
over, heiress  to  Marston  Hall,  and  brought  the  estate  into  the 
Ingoldsby  family  by  her  marriage  with  one  of  its  scions. 

Thus  far  Mrs.  Botherby. 

It  is  a  little  singular  that,  on  pulling  down  the  old  Hall  in 
my  grandfather's  time,  a  human  skeleton  was  discovered  among 
the  rubbish ;  under  what  particular  part  of  the  building  I 


could  never  with  any  accuracy  ascertain;  but  it  was  found 
enveloped  in  a  tattered  cloth  that  seemed  to  have  been  once 
a  carpet,  and  which  fell  to  pieces  almost  immediately  on  being 
exposed  to  the  air.  The  bones  were  perfect,  but  those  of  one 
hand  were  wanting ;  and  the  skull,  perhaps  from  the  laborer's 
pickaxe,  had  received  considerable  injury ;  the  worm-eaten 
stock  of  an  old-fashioned  pistol  lay  near,  together  with  a  rusty 
piece  of  iron  which  a  workman,  more  sagacious  than  his  fellows, 


120  MRS.  BOTITERBY'S  STORY. 

pronounced  a  portion  of  the  lock ;  but  nothing  was  found  which 
the  utmost  stretch  of  human  ingenuity  could  twist  into  a  barrel. 
The  portrait  of  the  fair  Marian  hangs  yet  in  the  Gallery  of 
Tappington ;  and  near  it  is  another,  of  a  young  man  in  the 
prime  of  life,  which  Mrs.  Botherby  aflBrms  to  be  that  of  her 
father.  It  exhibits  a  mild  and  rather  melancholy  countenance, 
with  a  high  forehead,  and  the  peaked  beard  and  moustaches 
of  the  seventeenth  century.  The  signet-finger  of  the  left  hand 
is  gone,  and  appears,  on  close  inspection,  to  have  been  painted 
out  by  some  later  artist ;  possibly  in  compliment  to  the  tra- 
dition, which,  teste  Botherby,  records  that  of  Mr.  Marsh  to 
have  gangrened,  and  to  have  undergone  amputation  at  the 
knuckle-joint.  If  really  the  resemblance  of  the  gentleman 
alluded  to,  it  must  have  been  taken  at  some  period  antecedent 
to  his  marriage.  There  is  neither  date  nor  painter's  name; 
but  a  little  above  the  head,  on  the  dexter  side  of  the  picture, 
is  an  escutcheon,  bearing  "Quarterly,  Gules  and  Argent,  in 
the  first  quarter  a  horse's  head  of  the  second ;"  beneath  it  are 
the  words  "jEtatis  suce  26."  On  the  opposite  side  is  the  following 
mark,  which  Mr.  Simpkinson  declares  to  be  that  of  a  Merchant 
of  the  Staple,  and  pretends  to  discover,  in  the  monogram  com- 
prised in  it,  all  the  characters  which  compose  the  name  of 
THOMAS  MARSH,  of  MARSTON. 


Respect  for  the  feelings  of  an  honorable  family, — nearly 
connected  with  the  Ingoldsbys, — has  induced  me  to  veil  the 
real  "  sponsorial  and  patronymic  appellations  "  of  my  next  hero 
under  a  sobriquet  interfering  neither  with  rhyme  nor  rhythm.* 
I  shall  merely  add  that  every  incident  in  the  story  bears  on 
the  face  of  it  the  stamp  of  veracity,  and  that  many  "  persons  of 
honor"  in  the  county  of  Berks,  who  well  recollected  Sir  George 
Rooks's  expedition  against  Gibraltar,  would,  if  they  were  now 
alive,  gladly  bear  testimony  to  the  truth  of  every  syllable. 

*  Pack  o'  nonsense !— Everybody  as  belongs  to  him  is  dead  and  gone— and  everybody 
knows  that  the  poor  young  gentleman's  real  name  wasn't  Sobriquet  at  all,  but  Hamp- 
den Pye,  Esq.,  and  that  one  of  bis  uncles— or  cousins- used  to  make  verses  about  the 


LEGEND   OF  HAMILTON  TIGEE.  121 

HcQeittr  of  l^amilton  ^igje. 

THE  Captain  is  walking  his  quarter-deck, 
With  a  troubled  brow  and  a  bended  neck ; 
One  eye  is  down  through  the  hatchway  cast, 
The  other  turns  up  to  the  truck  on  the  mast ; 
Yet  none  of  the  crew  may  venture  to  hint 
"  Our  Skipper  hath  gotten  a  sinister  squint !" 

The  Captain  again  the  letter  hath  read 

Which  the  bumboat  woman  brought  out  to  Spithead — 

Still,  since  the  good  ship  sailed  away. 

He  reads  that  letter  three  times  a  day ; 

Yet  the  writing  is  broad  and  fair  to  see 

As  a  Skipper  may  read,  in  his  degree, 

And  the  seal  is  as  black,  and  as  broad,  and  as  flat, 

As  his  own  cockade  in  his  own  cocked  hat : 

He  reads,  and  he  says,  as  he  walks  to  and  fro, 

"  Curse  the  old  woman — she  bothers  me  so !" 

He  pauses  now,  for  the  topmen  hail — 

"  On  the  larboard  quarter  a  sail !  a  sail !" 

That  grim  Old  Captain  he  turns  him  quick. 

And  bawls  through  his  trumpet  for  Hairy-faced  Dick. 

"  The  breeze  is  blowing — huzza !  huzza ! 

The  breeze  is  blowing — away !  away ! 

The  breeze  is  blowing — a  race !  a  race ! 

The  breeze  is  blowing — ^we  near  the  chase ! 

Blood  will  flow,  and  bullets  will  fly, — 

Oh  where  will  be  then  young  Hamilton  Tighe  ?" 

— "  On  the  foeman's  deck,  where  a  man  should  be, 
With  his  sword  in  his  hand,  and  his  foe  at  his  knee. 
Cockswain,  or  boatswain,  or  reefer  may  try. 
But  the  first  man  on  board  will  be  Hamilton  Tighe !" 

king  and  the  queen,  and  had  a  sack  of  money  for  doing  it  every  year ; — and  that's  hig 
picture  in  the  blue  coat  and  little  gold-laced  cocked  hat  that  hangs  on  the  stairs  over 
the  door  of  the  passage  that  leads  to  the  blue  roam.— Sobriquet ! — but  there! — The 
Squire  wrote  it  after  dinner ! — Elizabeth  Botheeby. 


122  LEGEND    OF  HAMILTON  TIGHE. 

Hairy-faced  Dick  hath  a  swarthy  hue, 
Between  a  gingerbread-nut  and  a  Jew, 
And  his  pigtail  is  long,  and  bushy,  and  thick, 
Like  a  pump-handle  stuck  on  the  end  of  a  stick. 
Hairy-faced  Dick  understands  his  trade ; 
He  stands  by  the  breech  of  a  long  earronade, 
The  linstock  glows  in  his  bony  hand. 
Waiting  that  grim  old  Skipper's  command. 

"  The  bullets  are  flying — huzza !  huzza ! 

The  bullets  are  flying — away !  away !" 

The  brawny  boarders  mount  by  the  chains. 

And  are  over  their  buckles  in  blood  and  in  brains : 

On  the  foeman's  deck,  where  a  man  should  be. 

Young  Hamilton  Tighe    Waves  his  cutlass  high, 
And  Capitaine  Orapaud  bends  low  at  his  knee. 

Hairy-faced  Dick,  linstock  in  hand, 

Is  waiting  that  grim-looking  Skipper's  command : — 

A  wink  comes  sly     From  that  sinister  eye — 
Hairy-faced  Dick  at  once  lets  fly. 
And  knocks  off"  the  head  of  Young  Hamilton  Tighe! 

There's  a  lady  sits  lonely  in  bower  and  hall. 

Her  pages  and  handmaidens  come  at  her  call : 

"  Now,  haste  ye,  my  handmaidens,  haste  and  see 

How  he  sits  there  and  glow'rs  with  his  head  on  his  knee !" 

The  maidens  smile,  and,  her  thought  to  destroy. 

They  bring  her  a  little,  pale,  mealy-faced  boy ; 

And  the  mealy-faced  boy  says,  "  Mother,  dear. 

Now  Hamilton's  dead,  I've  a  thousand  a  year !" 

The  lady  has  donned  her  mantle  and  hood. 
She  is  bound  for  shrift  at  Saint  Mary's  Rood : — 
"  Oh !  the  taper  shall  burn,  and  the  bell  shall  toll, 
And  the  mass  shall  be  said  for  my  stepson's  soul, 
And  the  tablet  fair  shall  be  hung  on  high, 
Orate  pro  animd  Hamilton  Tighe." 


LEGEND   OF  HAMILTON  TIOHE.  123 

Her  coach  and  four     Draws  up  to  the  door, 
"With  her  groom  and  her  footman,  and  half  a  score  more ; 
The  lady  steps  into  her  coach  alone, 
They  hear  her  sigh,  and  they  hear  her  groan, 
They  close  the  door,  and  they  turn  the  pin, 
But  there's  One  rides  with  her  that  never  stept  in  ! 
All  the  way  there,  and  all  the  way  back. 
The  harness  strains  and  the  coach-springs  crack. 
The  horses  snort  and  plunge  and  kick, 
Till  the  coachman  thinks  he  is  driving  Old  Nick ; 
And  the  grooms  and  the  footmen  wonder,  and  say 
"  What  makes  the  old  coach  so  heavy  to-day?" 
But  the  mealy-faced  boy  peeps  in  and  sees 
A  man  sitting  there  with  his  head  on  his  knees ! 

'Tis  ever  the  same, — in  hall  or  in  bower, 

Wherever  the  place,  whatever  the  hour. 

That  Lady  mutters,  and  talks  to  the  air. 

And  her  eye  is  fixed  on  an  empty  chair ; 

But  the  mealy-faced  boy  still  whispers  with  dread, 

"  She  talks  to  a  man  with  never  a  head !" 


There's  an  old  Yellow  Admiral  living  at  Bath, 

As,  gray  as  a  badger,  as  thin  as  a  lath ; 

And  his  very  queer  eyes  have  such  very  queer  leers. 

They  seem  to  be  trying  to  peep  at  his  ears ; 

That  old  Yellow  Admiral  goes  to  the  Rooms, 

And  he  plays  long  whist,  but  he  frets  and  he  fumes. 

For  all  his  Knaves  stand  upside  down. 

And  the  Jack  of  Clubs  does  nothing  but  frown ; 

And  the  Kings,  and  the  Aces,  and  all  the  best  trumps 

Get  into  the  hands  of  the  other  old  frumps ; 

While,  close  to  his  partner,  a  man  he  sees 

Counting  the  tricks  with  his  head  on  his  knees. 

In  Ratclifie  Highway  there's  an  old  marine  store, 
And  a  great  black  doll  hangs  out  of  the  door ; 


124  LEGEND    OF  HAMILTON  TIOEE. 

There  are  rusty  locks,  and  dusty  bags, 

And  musty  phials,  and  fusty  rags. 

And  a  lusty  old  woman,  called  Thirsty  Nan, 

And  her  crusty  old  husband's  a  Hairy-faced  man  1 

That  Hairy-faced  man  is  sallow  and  wan, 
And  his  great  thick  pigtail  is  withered  and  gone ; 
And  he  cries,  "  Take  away  that  lubberly  chap 
That  sits  there  and  grins  with  his  head  in  his  lap !" 
And  the  neighbors  say,  as  they  see  him  look  sick, 
"  What  a  rum  old  covey  is  Hairy-faced  Dick !" 

That  Admiral,  Lady,  and  Hairy-faced  man 

May  say  what  they  please,  and  may  do  what  they  can ; 

But  one  thing  seems  remarkably  clear, — 

They  may  die  to-morrow,  or  live  till  next  year, — 

But  wherever  they  live,  or  whenever  they  die, 

They'll  never  get  quit  of  young  Hamilton  Tighe ! 


The  When,— the  Where,— and  the  How, — of  the  succeeding 
narrative  speak  for  themselves.  It  may  be  proper,  however,  to 
observe  that  the  ruins  here  alluded  to,  and  improperly  termed 
"the  Abbey,"  are  not  those  of  Bolsover,  described  in  a  pre- 
ceding page,  but  the  remains  of  a  Preceptory  once  belonging 
to  the  Knights  Templars,  situate  near  Swynfield,  Swinkefield, 
or,  as  it  is  now  generally  spelt  and  pronounced,  Swingfield, 
Minnis,  a  rough  tract  of  common  land  now  undergoing  the 
process  of  enclosure,  and  adjoining  the  woods  and  arable  lands 
of  Tappington,  at  the  distance  of  some  two  miles  from  the 
Hall,  to  the  southeastern  windows  of  which  the  time-worn 
walls  in  question,  as  seen  over  the  intervening  coppices,  pre- 
sent a  picturesque  and  striking  object. 


THE   WITCHES'   FROLIC.  125 


[Scene,  the  "Snuggery"  at  Tappington. — Grandpapa  in  a  high-backed  cane-hottomed 
elbow-chair  of  carved  walnut-tree,  dozing;  his  nose  at  an  angle  of  forty-five 
degrees,— his  thumbs  slowly  perform  the  rotatory  motion  described  by  lexico- 
graphers as  "  twiddling."— The  "  Hope  of  the  family"  astride  on  a  walking-stick, 
with  burnt-cork  moustaches,  and  a  pheasant's  tail  pinned  in  his  cap,  solaceth 
himself  with  martial  music. — Roused  by  a  strain  of  surpassing  dissonance,  Grand- 
papa loquitur.] 

COME  hither,  come  hither,  my  little  boy  Ned ! 
Come  hither  unto  my  knee — 
I  cannot  away  with  that  horrible  din, 
That  sixpenny  drum,  and  that  trumpet  of  tin. 
Oh,  better  to  wander  frank  and  free 
Through  the  Fair  of  good  St.  Bartlemy, 
Than  list  to  such  awful  minstrelsie. 
Now  lay,  little  Ned,  those  nuisances  by, 
And  I'll  rede  ye  a  lay  of  Grammarye. 

[Grandpapa  riseth,  yawneth  like  the  crater  of  an  extinct  volcano,  proceedeth  slowly 
to  the  window,  and  apostrophizeth  the  Abbey  in  the  distance.] 

I  love  thy  tower.  Gray  Ruin, 
I  joy  thy  form  to  see, 

Though  reft  of  all,     Cell,  cloister,  and  hall, 
Nothing  is  left  save  a  tottering  wall 
That,  awfully  grand  and  darkly  dull. 
Threatened  to  fall  and  demolish  my  skull, 
As,  ages  ago,  I  wandered  along 
Careless  thy  grass-grown  courts  among, 
In  sky-blue  jacket,  and  trousers  laced. 
The  latter  uncommonly  short  in  the  waist. 
Thou  art  dearer  to  me,  thou  Ruin  gray, 
Than  the  Squire's  veranda  over  the  way ; 

And  fairer,  I  ween.     The  ivy-sheen 
That  thy  mouldering  turret  binds, 
Than  the  Alderman's  house  about  half  a  mile  off, 

With  the  green  Venetian  blinds^. 
Full  many  a  tale  would  my  Grandam  tell. 
In  many  a  bygone  day, 


126  THE   WITCHES'   FROLIC. 

Of  darksome  deeds,  which  of  old  befell 

In  thee,  thou  Ruin  gray ! 
And  I  the  readiest  ear  would  lend. 

And  stare  like  frightened  pig ! 
While  my  Grandfather's  hair  would  have  stood  up  on  end, 

Had  he  not  worn  a  wig. 

One  tale  I  remember  of  mickle  dread — 
Now  lithe  and  listen,  my  little  boy  Ned ! 


Thou  mayest  have  read,  my  little  boy  Ned, 

Though  thy  mother  thine  idlesse  blames, 
In  Doctor  Goldsmith's  history  book. 

Of  a  gentleman  called  King  James, 
In  quilted  doublet,  and  great  trunk  breeches. 
Who  held  in  abhorrence  Tobacco  and  Witches. 

Well, — in  King  James's  golden  days, — 

For  the  days  were  golden  then, — 
They  could  not  be  less,  for  good  Queen  Bess 

Had  died,  aged  threescore  and  ten, 

And  her  days,  we  know.     Were  all  of  them  so ; 
While  the  Court  poets  sung,  and  the  Court  gallants  swore 
That  the  days  were  as  golden  still  as  before. 

Some  people,  'tis  true,  a  troublesome  few, 

Who  historical  points  would  unsettle. 
Have  lately  thrown  out  a  sort  of  a  doubt 

Of  the  genuine  ring  of  the  metal ; 
But  who  can  believe  to  a  monarch  so  wise 
People  would  dare  tell  a  parcel  of  lies ! 

— Well,  then,  in  good  King  James's  days, — 

Golden  or  not  does  not  matter  a  jot, — 

Yon  Ruin  a  sort  of  a  roof  had  got ; 

For  though,  repairs  lacking,  its  walls  had  been  cracking 

Since  Harry  the  Eighth  sent  its  people  a-packing, 


THE    WITCHES'    FROLIC.  127 

Though  joists,  and  floors,     And  windows,  and  doors, 
Had  all  disappeared,  yet  pillars  by  scores 
Remained,  and  still  propped  up  a  ceiling  or  two, 
Wliile  the  belfry  was  almost  as  good  as  new ; 
You  are  not  to  suppose  matters  looked  just  so 
In  the  Ruin  some  two  hundred  years  ago. 

Just  in  the  furthermost  angle,  where 

There  are  still  the  remains  of  a  winding  stair, 

One  turret  especially  high  in  air 

Upreared  its  tall  gaunt  form  ; 
As  if  defying  the  power  of  Fate,  or 
The  hand  of  "  Time  the  Innovator ;" 

And  though  to  the  pitiless  storm 
Its  weaker  brethren  all  around 
Bowing,  in  ruin  had  strewed  the  ground. 
Alone  it  stood,  while  its  fellows  lay  strewed. 
Like  a  four-bottle  man  in  a  company  "  screwed," — 
Not  firm  on  his  legs,  but  by  no  means  subdued. 

One  night, — 'twas  in  Sixteen  hundred  and  six, — 
I  like  when  I  can,  Ned,  the  date  to  fix, — 

The  month  was  May,     Though  I  can't  well  say 
At  this  distance  of  time  the  particular  day — 
But  oh !  that  night,  that  horrible  night ! 
— Folks  ever  afterwards  said  with  affright 
That  they  never  had  seen  such  a  terrible  sight. 

The  Sun  had  gone  down  fiery  red ; 

And  if,  that  evening,  he  laid  his  head 

In  Thetis's  lap  beneath  the  seas. 

He  must  have  scalded  the  goddess's  knees. 

He  left  behind  him  a  lurid  track 

Of  blood-red  light  upon  clouds  so  black. 

That  Warren  and  Hunt,  with  the  whole  of  their  crew, 

Could  scarcely  have  given  them  a  darker  hue. 

There  came  a  shrill  and  a  whistling  sound, 
Above,  beneath,  beside,  and  around, 


128  THE   WITCHES'   FROLIC. 

Yet  leaf  ne'er  moved  on  tree ! 
So  that  some  people  thought  old  Beelzebub  must 
Have  been  locked  out  of  doors,  and  was  blowing  the  dust 
From  the  pipe  of  his  street-door  key. 
And  then  a  hollow  moaning  blast 
Came,  sounding  more  dismally  still  than  the  last, 
And  the  lightning  flashed,  and  the  thunder  growled, 
And  louder  and  louder  the  tempest  howled, 
And  the  rain  came  down  in  such  sheets  as  would  stagger  a 
Bard  for  a  simile  short  of  Niagara. 

Kob  Gilpin  "  was  a  citizen  ;'* 

But  though  of  some  "  renown," 
Of  no  great  "  credit"  in  his  own 

Or  any  other  town. 

He  was  a  wild  and  roving  lad. 

For  ever  in  the  alehouse  boozing ; 
Or  romping, — which  is  quite  as  bad, — 

With  female  friends  of  his  own  choosing. 

And  Rob  this  very  day  had  made, 

Not  dreaming  such  a  storm  was  brewing, 

An  assignation  with  Miss  Slade, — 

Their  trysting-place  that  same  gray  Ruin. 

But  Gertrude  Slade  became  afraid, 

And  to  keep  her  appointment  unwilling, 

When  she  spied  the  rain  on  her  window-pane 
In  drops  as  big  as  a  shilling ; 

She  put  off  her  hat  and  her  mantle  again : 

"  He'll  never  expect  me  in  all  this  rain !" 

But  little  he  recks  of  the  fears  of  the  sex. 

Or  that  maiden  false  to  her  tryst  could  be. 
He  had  stood  there  a  good  half  hour, 
Ere  yet  had  commenced  that  perilous  shower, 
Alone  by  the  trysting-tree ! 


THE   WITCHES'    FROLIC.  129 

Robin  looks  east,  Robin  looks  west, 
But  he  sees  not  her  whom  he  loves  the  best ; 
Robin  looks  up,  and  Robin  looks  down, 
But  no  one  comes  from  the  neighboring  town. 

The  storm  came  at  last ; — loud  roared  the  blast, 
And  the  shades  of  evening  fell  thick  and  fast ; 
The  tempest  grew  ;  and  the  straggling  yew. 
His  leafy  umbrella,  was  wet  through  and  through. 
Rob  was  half  dead  with  cold  and  with  fright. 
When  he  spies  in  the  Ruins  a  twinkling  light — 
A  hop,  two  skips,  and  a  jump,  and  straight 
Rob  stands  within  that  postern  gate. 

And  there  were  gossips  sitting  there, 
By  one,  by  two,  by  three : 

Two  were  an  old  ill-favored  pair : 

But  the  third  was  young  and  passing  fair, 
"With  laughing  eyes  and  with  coal-black  hair ; 

A  dainty  quean  was  she ! 
Rob  would  have  given  his  ears  to  sip 
But  a  single  salute  from  her  cherry  lip. 

As  they  sat  in  that  old  and  haunted  room, 
In  each  one's  hand  was  a  huge  birch  broom, 
On  each  one's  head  was  a  steeple-crowned  hat. 
On  each  one's  knee  was  a  coal-black  cat ; 
Each  had  a  kirtle  of  Lincoln  green — 
It  was,  I  trow,  a  fearsome  scene. 

"  Now  riddle  me,  riddle  me  right,  Madge  Gray, 
"What  foot  unli  allowed  wends  this  way  ? 
Goody  Price,  Goody  Price,  now  areed  me  right, 
Who  roams  the  old  Ruins  this  drearisome  night  ?" 

Then  up  and  spake  that  sonsie  quean. 

And  she  spake  both  loud  and  clear : 
"  Oh,  be  it  for  weal,  or  be  it  for  woe, 
Enter  friend,  or  enter  foe, 

Rob  Gilpin  is  welcome  here !" — 
9 


130  THE   WITCHES'    FROLIC. 

"  Now  tread  we  a  measure !  a  hall !  a  hall ! 
Now  tread  we  a  measure,"  quoth  she — 

The  heart  of  Robin     Beat  quick  and  throbbing — 
"  Roving  Rob,  tread  a  measure  with  me !" 
"  Ay,  lassie !"  quoth  Rob,  as  her  hand  he  gripes, 
"  Though  Satan  himself  were  blowing  the  pipes !" 

Now  around  they  go,  and  around,  and  around, 

AVith  hop-skip-and-jump,  and  frolicsome  bound  ; 

Such  sailing  and  gliding.     Such  sinking  and  sliding. 
Such  lofty  curvetting.     And  grand  pirouetting, 

Ned,  you  would  swear  that  Monsieur  Gilbert 

And  Miss  Taglioni  were  capering  there ! 

And  oh !  such  awful  music !  ne'er 

Fell  sounds  so  uncanny  on  mortal  ear. 

There  were  the  tones  of  a  dying  man's  groans 

Mixed  with  the  rattling  of  dead  men's  bones : 

Had  you  heard  the  shrieks,  and  the  squeals,  and  the  squeaks. 

You'd  not  have  forgotten  the  sound  for  weeks. 

And  around,  and  around,  and  around  they  go, 
Heel  to  heel,  and  toe  to  toe, — 
Prance  and  caper,  curvet  and  wheel, 
Toe  to  toe,  and  heel  to  heel. 

"  'Tis  merry,  'tis  merry.  Cummers,  I  trow, 

To  dance  thus  beneath  the  nightshade  bough !" — 

"  Goody  Price,  Goody  Price,  now  riddle  me  right, 
Where  may  we  sup  this  frolicsome  night  ?" 

"  Mine  host  of  the  Dragon  hath  mutton  and  veal ; 

The  Squire  hath  partridge,  and  widgeon,  and  teal ; 

But  old  Sir  Thopas  hath  daintier  cheer, 

A  pasty  made  of  the  good  red  deer, 

A  huge  grouse-pie,  and  a  fine  Florentine, 

A  fat  roast  goose,  and  a  turkey  and  chine." — 

"  Madge  Gray,  Madge  Gray, 

Now  tell  me,  I  pray, 

Where's  the  best  wassail  bowl  to  our  roundelay  ?" 


THE   WITCHES'    FROLIC.  131 

"  There  is  ale  in  the  cellars  of  Tappington  Hall, 
But  the  Squire*  is  a  churl,  and  his  drink  is  small ; 

Mine  host  of  the  Dragon     Hath  many  a  flagon 
Of  double  ale,  lambs'  wool,  and  eau  de  vie, 

But  Sir  Thopas,  the  Vicar,     Hath  costlier  liquor,— 
A  butt  of  the  choicest  Malvoisie. 

He  doth  not  lack     Canary  or  sack ; 
And  a  good  pint  stoup  of  Clary  wine 
Smacks  merrily  off  with  a  turkey  and  chine !" 

"  Now  away !  and  away !  without  delay. 
Hey  Cockalorum  !  my  Broomstick  gay ! 
We  must  be  back  ere  the  dawn  of  the  day : 
Hey  up  the  chimney !  away !  away !" — 

Old  Goody  Price     Mounts  in  a  trice. 
In  showing  her  legs  she  is  not  over  nice ; 

Old  Goody  Jones,     All  skin  and  bones. 
Follows  "  like  winking." — Away  go  the  crones, 
Knees  and  nose  in  a  line  with  the  toes. 
Sitting  their  brooms  like  so  many  Ducrows ; 

Latest  and  last     The  damsel  passed. 
One  glance  of  her  coal-black  eye  she  cast ; 
She  laughed  with  glee  loud  laughters  three. 
"  Dost  fear,  Rob  Gilpin,  to  ride  with  me  ?" — 
Oh,  never  might  man  unscathed  espy 
One  single  glance  from  that  coal-black  eye. 

— Away  she  flew ! —     "Without  more  ado 
Rob  seizes  and  mounts  on  a  broomstick  too, 
"  Hey  up  the  chimney,  lass !     Hey  after  you !" 

It's  a  very  fine  thing,  on  a  fine  day  in  June, 
To  ride  through  the  air  in  a  Nassau  Balloon  ; 
But  you'll  find  very  soon,  if  you  aim  at  the  Moon 
In  a  carriage  like  that,  you're  a  bit  of  a  "  Spoon," 

*  Stephen  Ingoldsby,  surnamed  "The  Niggard,"  second  cousin  and  successor  to 
"The  Bad  Sir  Giles."  (A'isitation  of  Kent,  1666.)  For  au  account  of  his  murder  by 
burglars,  and  their  subsequent  execution,  see  Dodsley's  "Remarkable  Trials,"  etc. 
Lond.  1776,  vol.  ii.  p.  264,  ex  the  present  volume,  Art.  "Hand  of  Glory." 


132  THE   WITCHES'    FROLIC. 

For  the  largest  can't  fly     Above  twenty  miles  high, 
And  you're  not  half  way  then  on  your  journey,  nor  nigh ; 

While  no  man  alive    Could  ever  contrive, 
Mr.  Green  has  declared,  to  get  higher  than  five. 
And  the  soundest  Philosophers  hold  that,  perhaps. 
If  you  reached  twenty  miles  your  balloon  would  collapse, 

Or  pass  by  such  action    The  sphere  of  attraction. 
Getting  into  the  track  of  some  comet — Good  lack ! 
'Tis  a  thousand  to  one  that  you'd  never  come  back ; 
And  the  boldest  of  mortals  a  danger  like  that  must  fear, 
Kashly  protruding  beyond  our  own  atmosphere. 

No,  no  ;  when  I  try     A  trip  to  the  sky, 
I  shan't  go  in  that  thing  of  yours,  Mr.  Gye, 
Though  Messieurs  Monck  Mason,  and  Spencer,  and  Beazly, 
All  join  in  saying  it  travels  so  easily. 

No ;  there's  nothing  so  good    As  a  pony  of  wood — 
Not  like  that  which,  of  late,  they  stuck  up  on  the  gate 
At  the  end  of  the  Park,  Avhich  caused  so  much  debate. 
And  gave  so  much  trouble  to  make  it  stand  straight — 
But  a  regular  Broomstick — you'll  find  that  the  favorite — 
Above  all,  when,  like  Eobin,  you  haven't  to  pay  for  it. 

— Stay — really  I  dread —     I  am  losing  the  thread 
Of  my  tale ;  and  it's  time  you  should  be  in  your  bed, 
So  lithe  now,  and  listen,  my  little  boy  Ned ! 


The  Vicarage  walls  are  lofty  and  thick. 

And  the  copings  are  stone,  and  the  sides  are  brick ; 

The  casements  are  narrow,  and  bolted  and  barred, 

And  the  stout  oak  door  is  heavy  and  hard ; 

Moreover,  by  way  of  additional  guard, 

A  great  big  dog  runs  loose  in  the  yard, 

And  a  horse-shoe  is  nailed  on  the  threshold  sill, 

To  keep  out  aught  that  savors  of  ill, — 

But,  alack !  the  chimney-pot's  open  still ! 

— That  great  big  dog  begins  to  quail, 

Between  his  hind  legs  he  drops  his  tail. 


THE   WITCHES'   FROLIC.  133 

Crouched  on  the  ground,  the  terrified  hound 

Gives  vent  to  a  very  odd  sort  of  a  sound ; 

It  is  not  a  bark,  loud,  open,  and  free. 

As  an  honest  old  watch-dog's  bark  should  be ; 

It  is  not  a  yelp,  it  is  not  a  growl, 

But  a  something  between  a  whine  and  a  howl ; 

And,  hark ! — a  sound  from  the  window  high 

Responds  to  the  watch-dog's  pitiful  cry  : 

It  is  not  a  moan,     It  is  not  a  groan : 
It  comes  from  a  nose, — but  is  not  what  a  nose 
Produces  in  healthy  and  sound  repose. 
Yet  Sir  Thopas  the  Vicar  is  fast  asleep, 
And  his  respirations  are  heavy  and  deep ! 

He  snores,  'tis  true,  but  he  snores  no  more 
As  he's  aye  been  accustomed  to  snore  before, 
And  as  men  of  his  kidney  are  wont  to  snore 
(Sir  Thopas's  weight  is  sixteen  stone  four) ; — 
He  draws  his  breath  like  a  man  distressed 
By  pain  or  grief,  or  like  one  oppressed 
By  some  ugly  old  Incubus  perched  on  his  breast. 

A  something  seems    To  disturb  his  dreams, 
And  thrice  on  his  ear,  distinct  and  clear, 
Falls  a  voice  as  of  somebody  whispering  near 
In  still  small  accents,  faint  and  few, 
"  Hey  down  the  chimney-pot !     Hey  after  you !" 

Throughout  the  Vicarage,  near  and  far, 
There  is  no  lack  of  bolt  or  of  bar ; 

There  are  plenty  of  locks     To  closet  and  box, 
Yet  the  pantry  wicket  is  standing  ajar ! 
And  the  little  low  door,  through  which  you  must  go, 
Down  some  half  dozen  steps,  to  the  cellar  below, 
Is  also  unfastened,  though  no  one  may  know, 
By  so  much  as  a  guess,  how  it  comes  to  be  so ; 

For  wicket  and  door.     The  evening  before. 
Were  both  of  them  locked,  and  the  key  safely  placed 
On  the  bunch  that  hangs  down  from  the  Housekeeper's  waist. 


134  THE   WITCHES'   FROLIC. 

Oh !  'twas  a  jovial  sight  to  view 

In  that  snug  little  cellar  that  frolicsome  crew ! — 

Old  Goody  Price    Had  got  something  nice, 
A  turkey-poult  larded  with  bacon  and  spice ; 

Old  Goody  Jones    Would  touch  nought  that  had  bones, — 
She  might  just  as  well  mumble  a  parcel  of  stones. 
Goody  Jones,  in  sooth,  had  got  never  a  tooth, 
And  a  New-College  pudding  of  marrow  and  plums 
Is  the  dish  of  all  others  that  suiteth  her  gums. 

Madge  Gray  was  picking    The  breast  of  a  chicken ; 
Her  coal-black  eye,  with  its  glance  so  sly, 
Was  fixed  on  Rob  Gilpin  himself,  sitting  by 
With  his  heart  full  of  love,  and  his  mouth  full  of  pie ; 

Grouse-pie,  with  hare     In  the  middle,  is  fare 
Which,  duly  concocted  with  science  and  care. 
Doctor  Kitchener  says  is  beyond  all  compare  ; 

And  a  tenderer  leveret     Robin  had  never  ate ; 
So,  in  after  times,  oft  he  was  wont  to  asseverate. 

"  Now  pledge  we  the  wine-cup ! — a  health ! — a  health ! 

Sweet  are  the  pleasures  obtained  by  stealth ! 

Fill  up !  fill  up ! — the  brim  of  the  cup 

Is  the  part  that  aye  holdeth  the  toothsomest  sup ! 

Here's  to  thee,  Goody  Price ! — Goody  Jones,  to  thee ! — 

To  thee.  Roving  Rob !  and  again  to  me ! 

Many  a  sip,  never  a  slip. 

Come  to  us  four  'twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip !" 

The  cups  pass  quick,     The  toasts  fly  thick, 
Rob  tries  in  vain  out  their  meaning  to  pick, 
But  hears  the  words  "Scratch,"  and  "Old  Bogey,"  and  "  Nick." 

More  familiar  grown,     Now  he  stands  up  alone. 
Volunteering  to  give  them  a  toast  of  his  own. 

"  A  bumper  of  wine !     Fill  thine !     Fill  mine ! 
Here's  a  health  to  old  Noah  who  planted  the  Vine !" 

Oh  then  what  sneezing,     What  coughing  and  wheezing, 
Ensued  in  a  way  that  was  not  over  pleasing ; 
Goody  Price,  Goody  Jones,  and  the  pretty  Madge  Gray, 
All  seemed  as  their  liquor  had  gone  the  wrong  way. 


THE   WITCHES'   FROLIC.  135 

But  the  best  of  the  joke  was,  the  moment  he  spoke 

Those  words  which  the  party  seemed  almost  to  choke, 

As  by  mentioning  Noah  some  spell  had  been  broke, 

Every  soul  in  the  house  at  that  instant  awoke ! 

And,  hearing  the  din  from  barrel  and  bin, 

Drew  at  once  the  conclusion  that  thieves  had  got  in. 

Up  jumped  the  Cook  and  caught  hold  of  her  spit; 

Up  jumped  the  Groom  and  took  bridle  and  bit ; 

Up  jumped  the  Gardener  and  shouldered  his  spade ; 

Up  jumped  the  Scullion, — the  Footman, — the  Maid 

(The  two  last,  by  the  way,  occasioned  some  scandal 

By  appearing  together  with  only  one  candle. 

Which  gave  for  unpleasant  surmises  some  handle) ; 

Up  jumped  the  Swineherd, — and  up  jumped  the  big  boy, 

A  nondescript  under  him,  acting  as  Pig-boy ; 

Butler,  Housekeeper,  Coachman — from  bottom  to  top 

Everybody  jumped  up  without  parley  or  stop. 

With  the   weapon   which   first  in   their  way   chanced  to 

drop, — 
Whip,  warming-pan,  wig-block,  mug,  musket,  and  mop. 

Last  of  all  doth  appear,     With  some  symptoms  of  fear, 
Sir  Thopas  in  person  to  bring  up  the  rear, 
In  a  mixed  kind  of  costume  half  Pontificalibits, 
Half  what  scholars  denominate  Pure  Naturalibus; 

Nay,  the  truth  to  express,     As  you'll  easily  guess. 
They  have  none  of  them  time  to  attend  much  to  dress ; 

But  He,  or  She,     As  the  case  may  be, 
He  or  She  seizes  what  He  or  She  pleases, 
Trunk-hosen  or  kirtles,  and  shirts  or  chemises. 
And  thus  one  and  all,  great  and  small,  short  and  tall. 
Muster  at  once  in  the  Vicarage  hall. 
With  upstanding  locks,  starting  eyes,  shortened  breath. 
Like  the  folks  in  the  Gallery  Scene  in  Macbeth, 
When  Macduff  is  announcing  their  Sovereign's  death. 
And  hark ! — what  accents  clear  and  strong 
To  the  listening  throng  came  floating  along ! 
'Tis  Robin  encoring  himself  in  a  song — 

"  Very  good  song !  very  well  sung ! 

Jolly  companions  every  one !" 


136  THE   WITCHES'    FROLIC. 

On,  on  to  the  cellar !  away !  away ! 

On,  on  to  the  cellar  without  more  delay ! 

The  whole  posse  rush  onwards  in  battle  array — 

Conceive  the  dismay  of  the  party  so  gay. 

Old  Goody  Jones,  Goody  Price,  and  Madge  Gray, 

When  tlie  door  bursting  wide,  they  descried  the  allied 

Troops,  prepared  for  the  onslaught,  roll  in  like  a  tide. 

And  the  spits,  and  the  tongs,  and  the  pokers  beside ! — 

"  Boot  and  saddle's  the  word !  mount.  Cummers,  and  ride !" — 

Alarm  was  ne'er  caused  more  strong  and  indigenous 

By  cats  among  rats,  or  a  hawk  in  a  pigeon-house ; 

Quick  from  the  view     Away  they  all  flew, 
With  a  yell,  and  a  screech,  and  a  halliballoo, 
"  Hey  up  the  chimney !     Hey  after  you !" — 
The  Volscians  themselves  made  an  exit  less  speedy 
From  Corioli,  "  flutter'd  like  doves  "  by  Macready. 

They  are  gone, — save  one,     Robin  alone ! 
Robin,  whose  high  state  of  civilization 
Precludes  all  idea  of  aerostation ; 

And  who  now  has  no  notion     Of  more  locomotion 
Than  sufiices  to  kick,  with  much  zeal  and  devotion. 
Right  and  left  at  the  party,  who  pounced  on  their  victim. 
And  mauled  him,  and  kicked  him,  and  licked  him,  and  pricked 

him. 
As  they  bore  him  away  scarce  aware  what  was  done. 
And  believing  it  all  but  a  part  of  the  fun. 
Hie — hiccoughing  out  the  same  strain  he'd  begun, 
"  Jol — -jolly  companions  every  one !" 

Morning  gray     Scarce  burst  into  day 
Ere  at  Tappington  Hall  there's  the  deuce  to  pay ; 
The  tables  and  chairs  are  all  placed  in  array 
In  the  old  oak-parlor,  and  in  and  out 
Domestics  and  neighbors,  a  motley  rout, 
Are  walking,  and  whispering,  and  standing  about ; 

And  the  Squire  is  there    In  his  large  arm-chair, 
Leaning  back  with  a  grave  magisterial  air ; 


THE  WITCHES'   FROLIC.  137 

In  the  front  of  a  seat  a     Huge  volume,  called  Fleta, 
And  Bractou,  a  tome  of  an  old-fashioned  look, 
And  Coke  upon  Lyttelton,  then  a  new  book ; 

And  he  moistens  his  lips  With  occasional  sips 
From  a  luscious  sack-posset  that  smiles  in  a  tankard 
Close  by  on  a  side-table — not  that  he  drank  hard. 

But  because  at  that  day,     I  hardly  need  say. 
The  Hong  Merchants  had  not  yet  invented  How  Qua, 
Nor  as  yet  would  you  see  Souchong  or  Bohea 
At  the  tables  of  persons  of  any  degree : 
How  our  ancestors  managed  to  do  without  tea 
I  must  fairly  confess  is  a  mystery  to  me ; 

Yet  your  Lydgates  and  Chancers 

Had  no  cups  and  saucers ; 
Their  breakfast,  in  fact,  and  the  best  they  could  get, 
Was  a  sort  of  dejedner  a  la  fourchette ; 

Instead  of  our  slops    They  had  cutlets  and  chops, 
And  sack-possets,  and  ale  in  stoups,  tankards,  and  pots ; 
And  they  wound  up  the  meal  with  rumpsteaks  and  'schalots. 

Now  the  Squire  lifts  his  hand    With  an  air  of  command, 
And  gives  them  a  sign,  which  they  all  understand, 
To  bring  in  the  culprit ;  and  straightway  the  carter 
And  huntsman  drag  in  that  unfortunate  martyr, 
Still  kicking,  and  crying  "  Come, — what  are  you  arter?" 
The  charge  is  prepared,  and  the  evidence  clear, 
"  He  was  caught  in  the  cellar  a-drinking  the  beer ! 
And  came  there,  there's  very  great  reason  to  fear, 
With  companions, — to  say  but  the  least  of  them, — queer ; 
Such  as  Witches,  and  creatures     With  horrible  features, 
And  horrible  grins.     And  hooked  noses  and  chins. 
Who'd  been  playing  the  deuce  with  his  Keverence's  bins." 
The  face  of  his  worship  grows  graver  and  graver, 
As  the  parties  detail  Robin's  shameful  behavior ; 
Mister  Buzzard,  the  clerk,  while  the  tale  is  reciting. 
Sits  down  to  reduce  the  affair  into  writing. 

With  all  proper  diction,     And  due  "  legal  fiction :" 
Viz.,  "  That  he,  the  said  prisoner,  as  clearly  was  shown, 
Conspiring  with  folks  to  deponents  unknown. 


138  THE  WITCHES'    FROLIC. 

With  divers — that  is  to  say,  two  thousand — people, 
In  two  thousand  hats,  each  hat  peaked  like  a  steeple, 

With  force  and  with  arms.    And  with  sorcery  and  charms. 
Upon  two  thousand  brooms.    Entered  four  thousand  rooms, 
To  wit,  two  thousand  pantries,  and  two  thousand  cellars, 
Put  in  bodily  fear  twenty  thousand  in-dwellers. 
And  with  sundry — that  is  to  say,  two  thousand — forks. 
Drew  divers — that  is  to  say,  ten  thousand — corks. 
And,  with  malice  prepense,  down  their  two  thousand  throttles 
Emptied  various — that  is  to  say,  ten  thousand — ^bottles ; 
All  in  breach  of  the  peace, — moved  by  Satan's  malignity — 
And  in  spite  of  King  James,  and  his  Crown,  and  his  Dignity." 

At  words  so  profound    Eob  gazes  around. 
But  no  glance  sympathetic  to  cheer  him  is  found. 

— No  glance,  did  I  say !     Yes,  one ! — Madge  Gray ! — 
She  is  there  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd  standing  by, 
And  she  gives  him  one  glance  from  her  coal-black  eye, 
One  touch  to  his  hand,  and  one  word  to  his  ear 
(That's  a  line  which  I've  stolen  from  Sir  Walter,  I  fear),— 

While  nobody  near     Seems  to  see  her  or  hear ; 
As  his  worship  takes  up,  and  surveys  with  a  strict  eye. 
The  broom  now  produced  as  the  corpus  delicti, 

Ere  his  fingers  can  clasp.    It  is  snatched  from  his  grasp, 
The  end  poked  in  his  chest  with  a  force  makes  him  gasp. 
And  despite  the  decorum  so  due  to  the  Quorum, 
His  worship's  upset,  and  so  too  is  his  jorum  ; 
And  Madge  is  astride  on  the  broomstick  before  'em, — 
"  Hocus  Focus  !  Quick,  Presto  !  and  Bey  Cockalorum  ! 
Mount,  mount  for  your  life,  Rob !— Sir  Justice,  adieu !— 
— Hey  up  the  chimney-pot !  hey  after  you !" 

Through  the  mystified  group, 

With  a  halloo  and  a  whoop, 
Madge  on  the  pommel,  and  Robin  en  croupe, 
The  pair  through  the  air  ride  as  if  in  a  chair. 
While  the  party  below  stand  mouth  open  and  stare ; 
"  Clean  bumbaized"  and  amazed,  and  fixed,  all  the  room  stick. 
Oh!  what's  gone  with  Robin,— and  Madge,— and  the  broom- 
stick? 


THE   WITCHES'   FROLIC.  139 

Ay,  "what's  gone"  indeed,  Ned? — of  what  befell 
Madge  Gray  and  the  broomBtick,  I  never  heard  tell : 
But  Robin  was  found,  that  morn,  on  the  ground, 
In  yon  old  gray  Ruin  again,  safe  and  sound, 
Except  that  at  first  he  complained  much  of  thirst, 
And  a  shocking  bad  headache,  of  all  ills  the  worst, 
And  close  by  his  knee    A  flask  you  might  see, 
But  an  empty  one,  smelling  of  eau  de  vie. 

Rob  from  this  hour  is  an  altered  man ; 

He  runs  home  to  his  lodgings  as  fast  as  he  can. 

Sticks  to  his  trade,     ^Marries  IVIiss  Slade, 
Becomes  a  Teetotaller — that  is,  the  same 
As  Teetotallers  now,  one  in  all  but  the  name ; 
Grows  fond  of  Small-beer,  which  is  always  a  steady  sign, 
Never  drinks  spirits  except  as  a  medicine ; 

Learns  to  despise     Coal-black  eyes, 
Minds  pretty  girls  no  more  than  so  many  Guys ; 
Has  a  family,  lives  to  be  sixty,  and  dies ! 

Now,  my  little  boy  Ned,    Brusb  oflf"  to  your  bed, 
Tie  your  nightcap  on  safe,  or  a  napkin  instead, 
Or  these  terrible  nights  you'll  catch  cold  in  your  head. 
And  remember  my  tale,  and  the  moral  it  teaches, 
Which  you'll  find  much  the  same  as  what  Solomon  preaches : 
Don't  flirt  with  young  ladies ;  don't  practice  soft  speeches ; 
Avoid  waltzes,  quadrilles,  pumps,  silk  hose,  and  knee-breeches ; — 
Frequent  not  gray  Ruins, — shun  riot  and  revelry. 
Hocus  Pocus,  and  Conjuring,  and  all  sorts  of  devilry ; — 
Don't  meddle  with  broomsticks,— they're  Beelzebub's  switches. 
Of  cellars  keep  clear,— they're  the  devil's  own  ditches ; 
And  beware  of  balls,  banquetings,  brandy,  and — witches ; 
Above  all,  don't  run  after  black  eyes ! — if  you  do, — 
Depend  on't  you'll  find  what  I  say  mil  come  true, — 
Old  Nick,  some  fine  morning,  will  "  hey  after  you !" 


140  SINGULAR  PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE  OF 

Strange  as  the  events  detailed  in  the  succeeding  nan-ative 
may  appear,  they  are,  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt,  true  to 
the  letter.  Whatever  impression  they  make  upon  the  reader, 
that  produced  by  them  on  the  narrator,  I  can  aver,  was  neither 
light  nor  transient. 

SINGULAR  PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE  OF 

m^z  late  l^enrs  l^arrig,  33octor  in  IJibinitg, 


I 


AS   BELATED   BY   THE   REV.   JASPER   INGOLDSBY,   M.A., 
HIS   FRIEND  AND   EXECUTOR. 

N  order  that  the  extraordinary  circumstance  which  I  am 
about  to  relate  may  meet  with  the  credit  it  deserves,  I 
think  it  necessary  to  premise  that  my  reverend  friend,  among 
whose  papers  I  find  it  recorded,  was,  in  his  lifetime,  ever 
esteemed  as  a  man  of  good  plain  understanding,  strict  veracity, 
and  unimpeached  morals, — by  no  means  of  a  nervous  tempera- 
ment, or  one  likely  to  attach  undue  weight  to  any  occurrence 
out  of  the  common  course  of  events  merely  because  his  reflec- 
tions might  not,  at  the  moment,  afford  him  a  ready  solution  of 
its  difficulties. 

On  the  truth  of  his  narrative,  as  far  as  he  was  personally 
concerned,  no  one  who  knew  him  would  hesitate  to  place  the 
most  implicit  reliance.  His  history  is  briefly  this :— He  had 
married  early  in  life,  and  was  a  widower  at  the  age  of  thirty- 
nine,  with  an  only  daughter,  who  had  then  arrived  at  puberty, 
and  was  just  married  to  a  near  connection  of  our  own  family. 
The  sudden  death  of  her  husband,  occasioned  by  a  fall  from 
his  horse,  only  three  days  after  her  confinement,  was  abruptly 

communicated  to  Mrs.  S by  a  thoughtless  girl,  who  saw 

her  master  brought  lifeless  into  the  house,  and,  Avith  all  that  in- 
explicable anxiety  to  be  the  first  to  tell  bad  news,  so  common 
among  the  lower  orders,  rushed  at  once  into  the  sick-room  with 
her  intelligence.  The  shock  was  too  severe ;  and  though  the 
young  widow  survived  the  fatal  event  several  months,  yet  she 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  D.D.  141 

gradually  sank  under  the  blow,  and  expired,  leaving  a  boy,  not 
a  twelvemouth  old,  to  the  care  of  his  maternal  grandfather. 

My  poor  friend  Avas  sadly  shaken  by  this  melancholy  catas- 
trophe ;  time,  however,  and  a  strong  religious  feeling,  succeeded 
at  length  in  moderating  the  poignancy  of  his  grief — a  consum- 
mation much  advanced  by  his  infant  charge,  who  now  succeeded, 
as  it  were  by  inheritance,  to  the  place  in  his  affections  left  va- 
cant by  his  daughter's  decease.    Frederick  S grew  up  to  be 

a  fine  lad ;  his  person  and  features  were  decidedly  handsome ; 
still  there  was,  as  I  remember,  an  unpleasant  expression  in  his 
countenance,  and  an  air  of  reserve,  attributed,  by  the  few  per- 
sons who  called  occasionally  at  the  vicarage,  to  the  retired  life 
led  by  his  grandfather,  and  the  little  opportunity  he  had,  in 
consequence,  of  mixing  in  the  society  of  his  equals  in  age  and 
intellect.  Brought  up  entirely  at  home,  his  progress  in  the 
common  branches  of  education  was,  without  any  great  display 
of  precocity,  rather  in  advance  of  the  generality  of  boys  of  his 
own  standing ;  partly  owing,  perhaps,  to  the  turn  which  even 
his  amusements  took  from  the  first.  His  sole  associate  was  the 
son  of  the  village  apothecary,  a  boy  about  two  years  older 
than  himself,  whose  father,  being  really  clever  in  -his  profession, 
and  a  good  operative  chemist,  had  constructed  for  himself  a 
small  laboratory,  in  which,  as  he  was  fond  of  children,  the  two 
boys  spent  a  great  portion  of  their  leisure  time,  witnessing 
many  of  those  little  experiments  so  attractive  to  youth,  and  in 
time  aspiring  to  imitate  what  they  admired. 

In  such  society,  it  is  not  surprising  that  Frederick  S 

should  imbibe  a  strong  taste  for  the  sciences  which  formed  his 
principal  amusement ;  or  that  when,  in  process  of  time,  it  be- 
came necessary  to  choose  his  walk  in  life,  a  profession  so  inti- 
mately connected  with  his  favorite  pursuit,  as  that  of  medicine, 
should  be  eagerly  selected.  No  opposition  was  oflTered  by  my 
friend,  who,  knoAving  that  the  greater  part  of  his  own  income 
would  expire  with  his  life,  and  that  the  remainder  would  prove 
an  insufficient  resource  to  his  grandchild,  was  only  anxious  that 
he  should  follow  such  a  path  as  would  secure  him  that  moder- 
ate and  respectable  competency  which  is,  perhaps,  more  condu- 
cive to  real  happiness  than  a  more  elevated  or  wealthy  station. 
Frederick  was,  accordingly,  at  the  proper  age,  matriculated  at 


142  SINGULAR   PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE   OF 

Oxford,  with  the  view  of  studying  the  higher  branches  of  medi- 
cine, a  few  months  after  his  friend,  John  W ,  had  proceeded 

to  Leyden,  for  the  purpose  of  making  himself  acquainted  with 
the  practice  of  surgery  in  the  hospitals  and  lecture-rooms 
attached  to  that  university.  The  boyish  intimacy  of  their 
younger  days  did  not,  as  is  frequently  the  case,  yield  to  separa- 
tion ;  on  the  contrary,  a  close  correspondence  was  kept  up 
between  them.  Dr.  Harris  was  even  prevailed  upon  to  allow 
Frederick  to  take  a  trip  to  Holland  to  see  his  friend ;  and  John 
returned  the  visit  to  Frederick  at  Oxford. 

Satisfactory  as,  for  some  time,  were  the  accounts  of  the  gene- 
ral course  of  Frederick  S 's  studies,  by  degrees  rumors  of  a 

less  pleasant  nature  reached  the  ears  of  some  of  his  friends ;  to 
the  vicarage,  however,  I  have  reason  to  believe  they  never  pen- 
etrated. The  good  old  Doctor  was  too  well  beloved  in  his  parish 
for  any  one  voluntarily  to  give  him  pain  ;  and,  after  all,  noth- 
ing beyond  whispers  and  surmises  had  reached  X ,  when  the 

worthy  vicar  was  surprised  on  a  sudden  by  a  request  from  his 
grandchild  that  he  might  be  permitted  to  take  his  name  off  the 
books  of  the  university,  and  proceed  to  finish  his  education  in 
conjunction  with  his  friend  W at  Leyden.  Such  a  pro- 
posal, made,  too,  at  a  time  when  the  period  for  his  graduat- 
ing could  not  be  far  distant,  both  surprised  and  grieved  the 
Doctor ;  he  combated  the  design  with  more  perseverance  than 
he  had  ever  been  known  to  exert  in  opposition  to  any  declared 
wish  of  his  darling  boy  before,  but,  as  usual,  gave  way  when 
more  strongly  pressed,  from  sheer  inability  to  persist  in  a  re- 
fusal which  seemed  to  give  so  much  pain  to  Frederick,  espe- 
cially when  the  latter,  with  more  energy  than  was  quite  becom- 
ing their  relative  situations,  expressed  his  positive  determination 
of  not  returning  to  Oxford,  whatever  might  be  the  result  of  his 
grandfather's  decision.  My  friend,  his  mind,  perhaps,  a  little 
weakened  by  a  short  but  severe  nervous  attack  from  which  he 
had  scarcely  recovered,  at  length  yielded  a  reluctant  consent, 
and  Frederick  quitted  England. 

It  was  not  till  some  months  had  elapsed  after  his  departure 
that  I  had  reason  to  suspect  that  the  eager  desire  of  availing 
himself  of  opportunities  for  study  abroad,  not  afibrded  him  at 
home,  was  not  the  sole,  or  even  the  principal,  reason  which  had 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  D.D.  143 

drawn  Frederick  so  abruptly  from  his  Alma  Mater.  A  chance 
visit  to  the  university,  and  a  conversation  with  a  senior  fellow 
belonging  to  his  late  college,  convinced  me  of  this ;  still  I  found 
it  impossible  to  extract  from  the  latter  the  precise  nature  of  his 
offence.  That  he  had  given  way  to  most  culpable  indulgences 
I  had  before  heard  hinted ;  and  when  I  recollected  how  he  had 
been  at  once  launched,  from  a  state  of  what  might  be  well 
called  seclusion,  into  a  world  where  so  many  enticements  were 
lying  in  wait  to  allure — with  liberty,  example,  everything  to 
tempt  him  from  the  straight  road — regret,  I  frankly  own,  was 
more  the  predominant  feeling  in  my  mind  than  either  surprise 
or  condemnation.  But  here  was  evidently  something  more 
than  mere  ordinary  excess — some  act  of  profligacy,  perhaps  of 
a  deeper  stain,  which  had  induced  his  superiors,  who,  at  first, 
had  been  loud  in  his  praises,  to  desire  him  to  withdraw  himself 
quietly,  but  for  ever;  and  such  an  intimation,  I  found,  had, 
in  fact,  been  conveyed  to  him  from  an  authority  which  it  was 
impossible  to  resist.  Seeing  that  my  informant  was  determined 
not  to  be  explicit,  I  did  not  press  for  a  disclosure,  which,  if 
made,  would,  in  all  jirobability,  only  have  given  me  pain,  and 
that  the  rather  as  my  old  friend  the  Doctor  had  recently  ob- 
tained a  valuable  living  from  Lord  M ,  only  a  few  miles 

distant  from  the  market  town  in  which  I  resided,  where  he  now 
was,  amusing  himself  in  putting  his  grounds  into  order,  orna- 
menting his  house,  and  getting  everything  ready  against  his 
grandson's  expected  visit  in  the  following  autumn.  October 
came,  and  with  it  came  Frederick :  he  rode  over  more  than 
once  to  see  me,  sometimes  accompanied  by  the  Doctor,  between 
whom  and  myself  the  recent  loss  of  my  poor  daughter  Louisa 
had  drawn  the  cords  of  sympathy  still  closer. 

More  than  two  years  had  flown  on  in  this  way,  in  which 

Frederick  S had  as  many  times  made  temporary  visits  to 

his  native  country.  The  time  was  fast  approaching  when  he 
was  expected  to  return  and  finally  take  up  his  residence  in 
England,  when  the  sudden  illness  of  my  wife's  father  obliged 
us  to  take  a  journey  into  Lancashire,  my  old  friend,  who  had 
himself  a  curate,  kindly  ofiering  to  fix  his  quarters  at  my  par- 
sonage, and  superintend  the  concerns  of  my  parish  till  my  re- 
turn.   Alas !  when  I  saw  him  next  he  was  on  the  bed  of  death  I 


144  SINGULAR  PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE  OF 

My  absence  was  necessarily  prolonged  much  beyond  what  I 
had  anticipated.  A  letter,  with  a  foreign  j)ost-mark,  had,  as  I 
afterwards  found,  been  brought  over  from  his  own  house  to  my 
venerable  substitute  in  the  interval,  and,  barely  giving  himself 
time  to  transfer  the  charge  he  had  undertaken  to  a  neighboring 
clergyman,  he  had  hurried  off  at  once  to  Leyden.  His  arrival 
there  was,  however,  too  late.  Frederick  was  dead  ! — killed  in 
a  duel,  occasioned,  it  was  said,  by  no  ordinary  provocation  on 
his  part,  although  the  flight  of  his  antagonist  had  added  to  the 
mystery  which  enveloped  its  origin.  The  long  journey,  its  mel- 
ancholy termination,  and  the  complete  overthrow  of  all  my 
poor  friend's  earthly  hopes,  were  too  much  for  him.  He  ap- 
peared too — as  I  was  informed  by  the  proprietor  of  the  house 
in  which  I  found  him,  when  his  summons  at  length  had  brought 
me  to  his  bedside — to  have  received  some  sudden  and  unac- 
countable shock,  which  even  the  death  of  his  grandson  was 
inadequate  to  explain.  There  was,  indeed,  a  wildness  in  his 
fast-glazing  eye,  which  mingled  strangely  with  the  glance  of 
satisfaction  thrown  upon  me  as  he  pressed  my  hand ;  he  endeav- 
ored to  raise  himself,  and  would  have  spoken,  but  fell  back  in 
the  effort,  and  closed  his  eyes  for  ever.  I  buried  him  there,  by 
the  side  of  the  object  of  his  more  than  parental  affection — in  a 
foreign  land. 

It  is  from  the  papers  that  I  discovered  in  his  travelling-case 
that  I  submit  the  following  extracts,  without,  however,  presum- 
ing to  advance  an  opinion  on  the  strange  circumstances  which 
they  detail,  or  even  as  to  the  connection  which  some  may  fancy 
they  discover  between  different  parts  of  them. 

The  first  was  evidently  written  at  my  own  house,  and  bears 
date  August  the  15th,  18 — ,  about  three  weeks  after  my  own 
departure  for  Preston. 

It  begins  thus  : — 

"Tuesday,  August  15. — Poor  girl! — I  forget  who  it  is  that 
says,  *  The  real  ills  of  life  are  light  in  comparison  with  fancied 
evils ;'  and  certainly  the  scene  I  have  just  witnessed  goes  some 
way  towards  establishing  the  truth  of  the  hypothesis.  Among 
the  afilictions  which  flesh  is  heir  to,  a  diseased  imagination  is 
far  from  being  the  lightest,  even  when  considered  separately, 
and  without  taking  into  the  account  those  bodily  pains  and 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  D.D.  145 

sufferings  -n-hich — so  close  is  the  connection  between  mind  and 
matter — are  but  too  frequently  attendant  upon  any  disorder  of 
the  fancy.  Seldom  has  my  interest  been  more  powerfully  ex- 
cited than  by  poor  ]\Iary  Graham.  Her  age,  her  appearance, 
her  pale,  melancholy  features,  the  very  contour  of  her  counte- 
nance, all  conspire  to  remind  me,  but  too  forcibly,  of  one  who, 
waking  or  sleeping,  is  never  long  absent  from  my  thoughts. 
But  enough  of  this. 

"  A  fine  morning  had  succeeded  one  of  the  most  tempestuous 
nights  I  ever  remember,  and  I  was  just  sitting  down  to  a  sub- 
stantial breakfast,  which  the  care  of  my  friend  Ingoldsby's 
housekeeper,  kind-hearted  Mrs.  Wilson,  had  prepared  for  me, 
when  I  was  interrupted  by  a  summons  to  the  sick-bed  of  a  young 
parishioner  whom  I  had  frequently  seen  in  my  walks,  and  had 
remarked  for  the  regularity  of  her  attendance  at  divine  worship. 
Mary  Graham  is  the  elder  of  two  daughters,  residing  with  their 
mother,  the  widow  of  an  attorney,  who,  dying  suddenly  in  the 
prime  of  life,  left  his  family  but  slenderly  provided  for.  A 
strict  though  not  parsimonious  economy  has,  however,  enabled 
them  to  live  with  an  appearance  of  respectability  and  comfort ; 
and  from  the  personal  attractions  which  both  the  girls  possess, 
their  mother  is  evidently  not  without  hopes  of  seeing  one,  at 
least,  of  them  advantageously  settled  in  life.  As  far  as  poor 
Mary  is  concerned,  I  fear  she  Is  doomed  to  inevitable  disappoint- 
ment, as  I  am  much  mistaken  if  consumption  has  not  laid  its 
wasting  finger  upon  her ;  while  this  last  recurrence,  of  what  I 
cannot  but  believe  to  be  a  formidable  epileptic  attack,  threatens 
to  shake  out,  with  even  added  velocity,  the  little  sand  that  may 
yet  remain  within  the  hour-glass  of  time.  Her  very  delusion, 
too,  is  of  such  a  nature  as,  by  adding  to  bodily  illness  the  agita- 
tion of  superstitious  terror,  can  scarcely  fail  to  accelerate  the 
catastrophe,  which  I  think  I  see  fast  approaching. 

"  Before  I  was  introduced  into  the  sick-room,  her  sister,  who 
had  been  watching  my  arrival  from  the  window,  took  me  into 
their  little  parlor,  and,  after  the  usual  civilities,  began  to  pre- 
pare me  for  the  visit  I  was  about  to  pay.  Her  countenance  was 
marked  at  once  with  trouble  and  alarm,  and  in  a  low  tone  of 
voice,  which  some  internal  emotion,  rather  than  the  fear  of  dis- 
turbing the  invalid  in  a  distant  room,  had  subdued  almost  to  a 
10 


146  SINOULAR   PASSAGE  IN  TEE  LIFE   OF 

whisper,  informed  me  that  my  presence  was  become  necessary, 
not  more  as  a  clergyman  than  a  magistrate ;  that  the  disorder 
with  which  her  sister  had,  during  the  night,  been  so  suddenly 
and  unaccountably  seized,  was  one  of  no  common  kind,  but 
attended  with  circumstances  which,  coupled  with  the  declara- 
tions of  the  suiferer,  took  it  out  of  all  ordinary  calculations,  and, 
to  use  her  own  expression,  that '  malice  was  at  the  bottom  of  it.' 

"  Naturally  supposing  that  these  insinuations  were  intended 
to  intimate  the  partaking  of  some  deleterious  substance  on  the 
part  of  the  invalid,  I  inquired  what  reason  she  had  for  imagin- 
ing, in  the  first  place,  that  anything  of  a  poisonous  nature  had 
been  administered  at  all ;  and,  secondly,  what  possible  incite- 
ment any  human  being  could  have  for  the  perpetration  of  so 
foul  a  deed  towards  so  innocent  and  unofiending  an  individual. 
Her  answer  considerably  relieved  the  apprehensions  I  had  begun 
to  entertain  lest  the  poor  girl  should,  from  some  unknown  cause, 
have  herself  been  attempting  to  rush  uncalled  into  the  presence 
of  her  Creator ;  at  the  same  time,  it  surprised  me  not  a  little  by 
its  apparent  want  of  rationality  and  common  sense.  She  had 
no  reason  to  believe,  she  said,  that  her  sister  had  taken  poison, 
or  that  any  attempt  upon  her  life  had  been  made,  or  was,  per- 
haps, contemplated,  but  that  'still  malice  was  at  work — the 
malice  of  villains  or  fiends,  or  of  both  combined ;  that  no  causes 
purely  natural  would  suffice  to  account  for  the  state  in  which 
her  sister  had  been  now  twice  placed,  or  for  the  dreadful  suffer- 
ings she  had  undergone  while  in  that  state ;'  and  that  she  was 
determined  the  whole  affair  should  undergo  a  thorough  investi- 
gation. Seeing  that  the  poor  girl  was  now  herself  laboring 
under  a  great  degree  of  excitement,  I  did  not  think  it  necessary 
to  enter  at  that  moment  into  a  discussion  upon  the  absurdity  of 
her  opinion,  but  applied  myself  to  the  tranquillizing  of  her 
mind  by  assurances  of  a  proper  inquiry,  and  then  drew  her 
attention  to  the  symptoms  of  the  indisposition,  and  the  way  in 
which  it  had  first  made  its  appearance. 

"  The  violence  of  the  storm  last  night  had,  I  found,  induced 
the  whole  family  to  sit  up  far  beyond  their  usual  hour,  till, 
wearied  out  at  length,  and,  as  their  mother  observed,  '  tired  of 
burning  fire  and  candle  to  no  purpose,'  they  repaired  to  their 
several  chambers. 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  B.D.  147 

"  The  sisters  occupied  the  same  room  ;  Elizabeth  was  already 
at  her  humble  toilet,  and  had  commenced  the  arrangement  of 
her  hair  for  the  night,  when  her  attention  was  at  once  drawn 
from  her  employment  by  a  half-smothered  shriek  and  exclama- 
tion from  her  sister,  who,  in  her  delicate  state  of  health,  had 
found  walking  up  two  flights  of  stairs,  perhaps  a  little  more 
quickly  than  usual,  an  exertion,  to  recover  from  which  she  had 
seated  herself  in  a  large  arm-chair. 

"  Turning  hastily  at  the  sound,  she  perceived  Mary  deadly 
pale,  grasping,  as  it  were  convulsively,  each  arm  of  the  chair 
which  supported  her,  and  bending  forward  in  the  attitude  of 
listening ;  her  lips  were  trembling  and  bloodless,  cold  drops  of 
perspiration  stood  upon  her  forehead,  and  in  an  instant  after, 
exclaiming  in  a  piercing  tone,  'Hark!  they  are  calling  me 
again !  it  is — it  is  the  same  voice ; — Oh  no,  no  ! — Oh  my  God ! 
save  me,  Betsy — hold  me — save  me !'  she  fell  forward  upon  the 
floor.  Elizabeth  flew  to  her  assistance,  raised  her,  and  by  her 
cries  brought  both  her  mother,  who  had  not  yet  got  into  bed,  and 
their  only  servant-girl,  to  her  aid.  The  latter  was  despatched 
at  once  for  medical  help ;  but,  from  the  appearance  of  the  suf- 
ferer, it  was  much  to  be  feared  that  she  would  soon  be  beyond 
the  reach  of  art.  Her  agonized  parent  and  sister  succeeded  in 
bearing  her  between  them  and  placing  her  on  a  bed  :  a  faint  and 
intermittent  pulsation  was  for  a  while  perceptible ;  but  in  a  few 
moments  a  general  shudder  shook  the  whole  body;  the  pulse 
ceased,  the  eyes  became  fixed  and  glassy,  the  jaw  dropped,  a 
cold  clamminess  usurped  the  place  of  the  genial  warmth  of  life. 

Before  Mr.  I arrived  everything  announced  that  dissolution 

had  taken  place,  and  that  the  freed  spirit  had  quitted  its  mortal 
tenement. 

"  The  appearance  of  the  surgeon  confirmed  their  worst  appre- 
hensions ;  a  vein  was  opened,  but  the  blood  refused  to  flow,  and 
Mr.  I pronounced  that  the  vital  spark  was  indeed  extin- 
guished. 

"The  poor  mother,  whose  attachment  to  her  children  was 
perhaps  the  more  powerful  as  they  were  the  sole  relatives  or 
connections  she  had  in  the  world,  was  overwhelmed  with  a 
grief  amounting  almost  to  frenzy.  It  was  with  difficulty  that 
she  was  removed  to  her  own  room  by  the  united  strength  of 


148  SINGULAR   PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE   OF 

her  daughter  and  medical  adviser.  Nearly  an  hour  had 
elapsed  during  the  endeavor  at  calming  her  transports ;  they 

had  succeeded,  however,  to  a  certain  extent,  and  Mr.  I 

had  taken  his  leave,  when  Elizabeth,  re-entering  the  bed- 
chamber in  which  her  sister  lay,  in  order  to  pay  the  last  sad 
duties  to  her  corpse,  was  horror-struck  at  seeing  a  crimson 
stream  of  blood  running  down  the  side  of  the  counterpane  to 
the  floor.  Her  exclamation  brought  the  girl  again  to  her  side, 
when  it  was  perceived,  to  their  astonishment,  that  the  sanguine 
stream  proceeded  from  the  arm  of  the  body,  which  was  now 
manifesting  signs  of  returning  life.  The  half-frantic  mother 
flew  to  the  room,  and  it  was  with  difiiculty  that  they  could  pre- 
vent her,  in  her  agitation,  from  so  acting  as  to  extinguish  for 
ever  the  hope  which  had  begun  to  rise  in  their  bosoms.  A 
long-drawn  sigh,  amounting  almost  to  a  groan,  followed  by 
several  convulsive  gaspings,  was  the  prelude  to  the  restoration 
of  the  animal  functions  in  poor  Mary :  a  shriek,  almost  preter- 
iaturally  loud  considering  her  state  of  exhaustion,  succeeded  ; 
but  she  did  recover,  and,  with  the  help  of  restoratives,  was  well 
enough  towards  morning  to  express  a  strong  desire  that  I 
should  be  sent  for — a  desire  the  more  readily  complied  with 
inasmuch  as  the  strange  expressions  and  declarations  she  had 
made  since  her  restoration  to  consciousness  had  filled  her  sister 
with  the  most  horrible  suspicions.  The  nature  of  these  sus- 
picions was  such  as  would  at  any  other  time,  perhaps,  have 
raised  a  smile  upon  my  lips ;  but  the  distress  and  even  agony 
of  the  poor  girl  as  she  half  hinted  and  half  expressed  them 
were  such  as  entirely  to  preclude  every  sensation  at  all  ap- 
proaching to  mirth.  Without  endeavoring,  therefore,  to  com- 
bat ideas  evidently  too  strongly  impressed  upon  her  mind  at 
the  moment  to  admit  of  present  refutation,  I  merely  used  a  few 
encouraging  words,  and  requested  her  to  precede  me  to  the  sick- 
chamber. 

"The  invalid  was  lying  on  the  outside  of  the  bed,  partly 
dressed,  and  wearing  a  white  dimity  wrapping-gown,  the  color 
of  which  corresponded  but  too  well  with  the  deadly  paleness  of 
her  complexion.  Her  cheek  was  wan  and  sunken,  giving  an 
extraordinary  prominence  to  her  eye,  which  gleamed  with  a 
lustrous  brilliancy  not  unfrequently  characteristic  of  the  aber- 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  D.D.  149 

ration  of  intellect.  I  took  her  hand  :  it  was  chill  and  clammy, 
the  pulse  feeble  and  intermittent,  and  the  general  debility  of 
her  frame  was  such  that  I  would  fain  have  persuaded  her  to 
defer  any  conversation  which,  in  her  present  state,  she  might 
not  be  equal  to  support.  Her  positive  assurance  that,  until 
she  had  disburdened  herself  of  what  she  called  her  *  dreadful 
secret,'  she  could  know  no  rest  either  of  mind  or  body,  at 
length  induced  me  to  comply  with  her  wish,  opposition  to 
which,  in  her  then  frame  of  mind,  might  perhaps  be  attended 
with  even  worse  effects  than  its  indulgence.  I  bowed  acquies- 
cence, and  in  a  low  and  faltering  voice,  with  frequent  interrup- 
tions occasioned  by  her  weakness,  she  gave  me  the  following 
singular  account  of  the  sensations  which,  she  averred,  had  been 
experienced  by  her  during  her  trance : — 

" '  This,  sir,'  she  began,  *  is  not  the  first  time  that  the  cruelty 
of  others  has,  for  what  purpose  I  am  unable  to  conjecture,  put 
me  to  a  degree  of  torture  which  I  can  compare  to  no  suffering, 
either  of  body  or  mind,  which  I  have  ever  before  experienced. 
On  a  former  occasion  I  was  willing  to  believe  it  the  mere  efiect 
of  a  hideous  dream,  or  what  is  vulgarly  termed  the  nightmare ; 
but  this  repetition,  and  the  circumstances  under  which  I  was 
last  summoned, — at  a  time,  too,  when  I  had  not  even  composed 
myself  to  rest, — fatally  convince  me  of  the  reality  of  what  I 
have  seen  and  suffered. 

" '  This  is  no  time  for  concealment  of  any  kind.  It  is  now 
more  than  a  twelvemonth  since  I  was  in  the  habit  of  occasion- 
ally encountering  in  my  walks  a  young  man  of  prepossessing 
appearance  and  gentlemanly  deportment.  He  was  always 
alone,  and  generally  reading ;  but  I  could  not  be  long  in  doubt 
that  these  rencounters,  which  became  every  week  more  fre- 
quent, were  not  the  effect  of  accident,  or  that  his  attention, 
when  we  did  meet,  was  less  directed  to  his  book  than  to  my 
sister  and  myself.  He  even  seemed  to  wish  to  address  us,  and 
I  have  no  doubt  would  have  taken  some  other  opportunity  of 
doing  so  had  not  one  been  afforded  him  by  a  strange  dog 
attacking  us  one  Sunday  morning  in  our  way  to  church,  which 
he  beat  off,  and  made  use  of  this  little  service  to  promote  an 
acquaintance.  His  name,  he  said,  was  Francis  Somers,  and 
added  that  he  was  on  a  visit  to  a  relation  of  the  same  name. 


150  SINGULAR  PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE  OF 

resident  a  few  miles  from  X .     He  gave  us  to  understand 

that  he  was  himself  studying  surgery  with  the  view  to  a  med- 
ical appointment  in  one  of  the  colonies.  You  are  not  to  sup- 
pose, sir,  that  he  had  entered  thus  into  his  concerns  at  the  first 
interview ;  it  was  not  till  our  acquaintance  had  ripened,  and  he 
had  visited  our  house  more  than  once  with  my  mother's  sanc- 
tion, that  these  particulars  were  elicited.  He  never  disguised, 
from  the  first,  that  an  attachment  to  myself  was  his  object  orig- 
inally in  introducing  himself  to  our  notice.  As  his  prospects 
were  comparatively  flattering,  my  mother  did  not  raise  any 
impediment  to  his  attentions,  and  I  own  I  received  them  with 
pleasure. 

"'Days  and  weeks  elapsed;  and  although  the  distance  at 
which  his  relation  resided  prevented  the  possibility  of  an  unin- 
terrupted intercourse,  yet  neither  was  it  so  great  as  to  preclude 
his  frequent  visits.  The  interval  of  a  day,  or  at  most  of  two, 
was  all  that  intervened;  and  these  temporary  absences  cer- 
tainly did  not  decrease  the  pleasure  of  the  meetings  which  they 
terminated.  At  length  a  pensive  expression  began  to  exhibit 
itself  upon  his  countenance,  and  I  could  not  but  remark  that  at 
every  visit  he  became  more  abstracted  and  reserved.  The  eye 
of  affection  is  not  slow  to  detect  any  symptom  of  uneasiness  in 
a  quarter  dear  to  it.  I  spoke  to  him,  questioned  him,  on  the 
subject ;  his  answer  was  evasive,  and  I  said  no  more.  My 
mother  too,  however,  had  marked  the  same  appearance  of  mel- 
ancholy, and  pressed  him  more  strongly.  He  at  length  admit- 
ted that  his  spirits  were  depressed,  and  that  their  depression 
was  caused  by  the  necessity  of  an  early,  though  but  a  tem- 
porary, separation.  His  uncle,  and  only  friend,  he  said,  had 
long  insisted  on  his  spending  some  months  on  the  Continent, 
with  the  view  of  completing  his  professional  education,  and 
that  the  time  was  now  fast  approaching  when  it  would  be 
necessary  for  him  to  commence  his  journey.  A  look  made  the 
inquiry  which  my  tongue  refused  to  utter.  "Yes,  dearest 
Mary,"  was  his  reply :  "  I  have  communicated  our  attachment 
to  him,  partially  at  least ;  and  though  I  dare  not  say  that  the 
intimation  was  received  as  I  could  have  wished,  yet  I  have 
perhaps,  on  the  whole,  no  fair  reason  to  be  dissatisfied  with  his 
reply. 


TEE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  D.D.  151 

" ' "  The  completion  of  my  studies,  and  my  settlement  in  the 
world,  must,  my  uucle  told  me,  be  the  first  consideration  ;  when 
these  material  points  were  achieved,  he  should  not  interfere 
with  any  arrangement  that  might  be  found  essential  to  my 
happiness ;  at  the  same  time  he  has  positively  refused  to  sanc- 
tion any  engagement  at  present,  which  may,  he  says,  have  a 
tendency  to  divert  my  attention  from  those  pursuits  on  the  due 
prosecution  of  which  my  future  situation  in  life  must  depend. 
A  compromise  between  love  and  duty  was  eventually  wrung 
from  me,  though  reluctantly ;  I  have  pledged  myself  to  proceed 
immediately  to  my  destination  abroad,  with  a  full  understand- 
ing that  on  my  return,  a  twelvemonth  hence,  no  obstacle  shall 
be  thrown  in  the  way  of  what  are,  I  trust,  our  mutual  wishes." 

" '  I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  the  feelings  with  which  I 
received  this  communication,  nor  will  it  be  necessary  to  say 
anything  of  what  passed  at  the  few  interviews  which  took  place 
before  Francis  quitted  X .  The  evening  immediately  pre- 
vious to  that  of  his  departure  he  passed  in  this  house,  and, 
before  we  separated,  renewed  his  protestations  of  an  unchange- 
able affection,  requiring  a  similar  assurance  from  me  in  return, 
I  did  not  hesitate  to  make  it.  "  Be  satisfied,  my  dear  Francis," 
said  I,  "  that  no  diminution  in  the  regard  I  have  avowed  can 
ever  take  place,  and  though  absent  in  body,  my  heart  and  soul 
will  still  be  with  you."—"  Swear  this,"  he  cried  with  a  sud- 
denness and  energy  which  surprised  and  rather  startled  me: 
"  promise  me  that  you  will  be  with  me  in  spirit,  at  least,  when 
I  am  far  away."  I  gave  him  my  hand,  but  that  was  not  suf- 
ficient. "  One  of  these  dark  shining  ringlets,  my  dear  Mary," 
said  he,  "  as  a  pledge  that  you  will  not  forget  your  vow  !"  I 
suffered  him  to  take  the  scissors  from  my  work-box  and  to  sever 
a  lock  of  my  hair,  which  he  placed  in  his  bosom.  The  next  day 
he  was  pursuing  his  journey,  and  the  waves  were  already  bear- 
ing him  from  England. 

"  *  I  had  letters  from  him  repeatedly  during  the  first  three 
months  of  his  absence :  they  spoke  of  his  health,  his  prospects, 
and  of  his  love ;  but  by  degrees  the  intervals  between  each 
arrival  became  longer,  and  I  fancied  I  perceived  some  falling 
off  from  that  warmth  of  expression  which  had  at  first  charac- 
terized his  communications. 


152  SINGULAR   PASSAGE  IN  TEE  LIFE   OF 

" '  One  night  I  had  retired  to  rest  rather  later  than  usual, 
having  sat  by  the  bedside  comparing  his  last  brief  note  \vith 
some  of  his  earlier  letters,  and  was  endeavoring  to  convince 
myself  that  my  apprehensions  of  his  fickleness  were  unfounded, 
when  an  undefinable  sensation  of  restlessness  and  anxiety  seized 
upon  me,  I  cannot  compare  it  to  anything  I  had  ever  experi- 
enced before ;  my  pulse  fluttered,  my  heart  beat  with  a  quick- 
ness and  violence  which  alarmed  me,  and  a  strange  tremor 
shook  my  whole  frame.  I  retired  hastily  to  bed,  in  hopes  of 
getting  rid  of  so  unpleasant  a  sensation,  but  in  vain ;  a  vague 
apprehension  of  I  know  not  what  occupied  my  mind,  and 
vainly  did  I  endeavor  to  shake  it  off.  I  can  compare  my  feel- 
ings to  nothing  but  those  which  we  sometimes  experience  when 
about  to  undertake  a  long  and  unpleasant  journey,  leaving 
those  we  love  behind  us.  More  than  once  did  I  raise  myself 
in  my  bed  and  listen,  fancying  that  I  heard  myself  called ;  and 
on  each  of  these  occasions  the  fluttering  of  my  heart  increased. 
Twice  I  was  on  the  point  of  calling  to  my  sister,  who  then  slept 
in  an  adjoining  room  ;  but  she  had  gone  to  bed  indisposed,  and 
an  unwillingness  to  disturb  either  her  or  my  mother  checked 
me.  The  large  clock  in  the  room  below  at  this  moment  began 
to  strike  the  hour  of  twelve ;  I  distinctly  heard  its  vibrations, 
but  ere  its  sounds  had  ceased  a  burning  heat,  as  if  a  hot  iron 
had  been  applied  to  my  temple,  was  succeeded  by  a  dizzinesss, — 
a  swoon, — a  total  loss  of  consciousness  as  to  where  or  in  what 
situation  I  was. 

"'A  pain,  violent,  sharp,  and  piercing,  as  though  my  whole 
frame  were  lacerated  by  some  keen-edged  weapon,  roused  me 
from  this  stupor  ; — but  where  was  I  ?  Everything  was  strange 
around  me ;  a  shadowy  dimness  rendered  every  object  indistinct 
and  uncertain ;  methought,  however,  that  I  was  seated  in  a  large 
antique  high-backed  chair,  several  of  which  were  near,  their 
tall  black  carved  frames  and  seats  interwoven  with  a  lattice- 
work of  cane.  The  apartment  in  which  I  sat  was  one  of  mod- 
erate dimensions,  and,  from  its  sloping  roof,  seemed  to  be  the 
upper  story  of  the  edifice,  a  fact  confirmed  by  the  moon  shining 
without,  in  full  effulgence,  on  a  huge  round  tower,  which  its 
light  rendered  plainly  visible  through  the  open  casement,  and 
the  summit  of  which  appeared  but  little  superior  in  elevation 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  D.D.  153 

to  the  room  I  occupied.  Rather  to  the  right,  and  in  the  dis- 
tance, the  spire  of  some  cathedral  or  lofty  church  was  visible, 
while  sundry  gable  ends  and  tops  of  houses  told  me  I  was  in 
the  midst  of  a  populous  but  unknown  city. 

"  '  The  apartment  itself  had  something  strange  in  its  appear- 
ance ;  and,  in  the  character  of  its  furniture  and  appurtenances, 
bore  little  or  no  resemblance  to  any  I  had  ever  seen  before. 
The  fireplace  was  large  and  wide,  with  a  pair  of  what  are  some- 
times called  andirons,  betokening  that  wood  was  the  principal 
if  not  the  only  fuel  consumed  within  its  recess ;  a  fierce  fire  was 
now  blazing  in  it,  the  light  from  which  rendered  visible  the 
remotest  parts  of  the  chamber.  Over  a  lofty  old-fashioned 
mantlepiece,  carved  heavily  in  imitation  of  fruits  and  flowers, 
hung  the  half-length  portrait  of  a  gentleman  in  a  dark-colored 
foreign  habit,  with  a  peaked  beard  and  moustaches,  one  hand 
resting  upon  a  table,  the  other  supporting  a  sort  of  baton,  or 
short  military  staff,  the  summit  of  which  was  surmounted  by  a 
silver  falcon.  Several  antique  chairs,  similar  in  appearance  to 
those  already  mentioned,  surrounded  a  massive  oaken  table,  the 
length  of  which  much  exceeded  its  width.  At  the  lower  end 
of  this  piece  of  furniture  stood  the  chair  I  occupied ;  on  the 
upper  was  placed  a  small  chafing-dish  filled  with  burning  coals, 
and  darting  forth  occasionally  long  flashes  of  various-colored 
fire,  the  brilliance  of  which  made  itself  visible,  even  above  the 
strong  illumination  emitted  from  the  chimney.  Two  huge 
black  japanned  cabinets,  with  clawed  feet,  reflecting  from  their 
polished  surfaces  the  effulgence  of  the  flame,  were  placed  one 
on  each  side  the  casement-window  to  which  I  have  alluded, 
and  with  a  few  shelves  loaded  with  books,  many  of  which  were 
also  strewed  in  disoi'der  on  the  floor,  completed  the  list  of  the 
furniture  in  the  apartment.  Some  strange-looking  instru- 
ments, of  unknown  form  and  purpose,  lay  on  the  table  near 
the  chafing-dish,  on  the  other  side  of  which  a  miniature  por- 
trait of  myself  hung,  reflected  by  a  small  oval  mirror  in  a 
dark-colored  frame,  while  a  large  open  volume,  traced  with 
strange  characters  of  the  color  of  blood,  lay  in  front ;  a  goblet, 
containing  a  few  drops  of  liquid  of  the  same  ensanguined  hue, 
was  by  its  side. 

"  *  But  of  the  objects  which  I  have  endeavored  to  describe, 


154  SINGULAR  PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE   OF 

none  arrested  ray  attention  so  forcibly  as  two  others.  These 
were  the  figures  of  two  young  men,  in  the  prime  of  life,  only 
separated  from  me  by  the  table.  They  were  dressed  alike,  each 
in  a  long  flowing  gown,  made  of  some  sad-colored  stuff,  and 
confined  at  the  waist  by  a  crimson  girdle;  one  of  them,  the 
shorter  of  the  two,  was  occupied  in  feeding  the  embers  of  the 
chafing-dish  with  a  resinous  powder,  which  produced  and  main- 
tained a  brilliant  but  flickering  blaze,  to  the  action  of  which 
his  companion  was  exposing  a  long  lock  of  dark  chestnut  hair, 
that  shrank  and  shrivelled  as  it  approached  the  flame.  But, 
O  God ! — that  hair ! — and  the  form  of  him  who  held  it !  that 
face !  those  features ! — not  for  one  instant  could  I  entertain  a 
doubt — it  was  He !  Francis ! — the  lock  he  grasped  was  mine, 
the  very  pledge  of  affection  I  had  given  him,  and  still,  as  it 
partially  encountered  the  fire,  a  burning  heat  seemed  to  scorch 
the  temple  from  which  it  had  been  taken,  conveying  a  torturing 
sensation  that  affected  my  very  brain. 

" '  How  shall  I  proceed  ? — but  no,  it  is  impossible, — not  even 
to  you,  sir,  can  I — dare  I — recount  the  proceedings  of  that  un- 
hallowed night  of  horror  and  of  shame.  Were  my  life  extended 
to  a  term  commensurate  with  that  of  the  Patriarchs  of  old, 
never  could  its  detestable,  its  damning  pollutions  be  effaced 
from  my  remembrance ;  and  oh !  above  all,  never  could  I  forget 
the  diabolical  glee  which  sparkled  in  the  eyes  of  my  fiendish 
tormentors,  as  they  witnessed  the  worse  than  useless  struggles 
of  their  miserable  victim.  Oh !  why  was  it  not  permitted  me 
to  take  refuge  in  unconsciousness,  nay,  in  death  itself,  from  the 
abominations  of  which  I  was  compelled  to  be,  not  only  a  wit- 
ness, but  a  partaker  ?  But  it  is  enough,  sir ;  I  will  not  further 
shock  your  nature  by  dwelling  longer  on  the  scene,  the  full 
horrors  of  which  words,  if  I  even  dared  employ  any,  would  be 
inadequate  to  express;  sufiice  it  to  say  that  after  being  subjected 
to  it,  how  long  I  knew  not,  but  certainly  for  more  than  an  hour, 
a  noise  from  below  seemed  to  alarm  my  persecutors ;  a  pause 
ensued, — the  lights  were  extinguished, — and,  as  the  sound  of  a 
footstep  ascending  a  staircase  became  more  distinct,  my  forehead 
felt  again  the  excruciating  sensation  of  heat,  while  the  embers, 
kindling  into  a  momentary  flame,  betrayed  another  portion  of 
the  riuglet  consuming  in  the  blaze.     Fresh  agonies  succeeded, 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  D.D.  155 

not  less  severe,  and  of  a  similar  description  to  those  which  had 
seized  upon  me  at  first ;  oblivion  again  followed,  and  on  being 
at  length  restored  to  consciousness,  I  found  myself  as  you  see 
me  now,  faint  and  exhausted,  weakened  in  every  limb,  and 
every  fibre  quivering  with  agitation.  My  groans  soon  brought 
my  sister  to  my  aid ;  it  was  long  before  I  could  summon  resolu- 
tion to  confide,  even  to  her,  the  dreadful  secret,  and  when  I  had 
done  so,  her  strongest  efibrts  were  not  wanting  to  persuade  me 
that  I  had  been  laboring  under  a  severe  attack  of  nightmare. 
I  ceased  to  argue,  but  I  was  not  convinced :  the  whole  scene 
was  then  too  present,  too  awfully  real,  to  permit  me  to  doubt 
the  character  of  the  transaction ;  and  if,  when  a  few  days  had 
elapsed,  the  hopelessness  of  imparting  to  others  the  conviction 
I  entertained  myself  produced  in  me  an  apparent  acquiescence 
with  their  opinion,  I  have  never  been  the  less  satisfied  that  no 
cause  reducible  to  the  known  laws  of  nature  occasioned  my 
sufferings  on  that  hellish  evening.  Whether  that  firm  belief 
might  have  eventually  yielded  to  time,  whether  I  might  at 
length  have  been  brought  to  consider  all  that  had  passed,  and 
the  circumstances  which  I  could  never  cease  to  remember,  as  a 
mere  phantasm,  the  offspring  of  a  heated  imagination,  acting 
upon  an  enfeebled  body,  I  know  not — last  night,  however,  would 
in  any  case  have  dispelled  the  flattering  illusion — last  night — 
last  night  was  the  whole  horrible  scene  acted  over  again.  The 
place — the  actors — the  whole  infernal  apparatus  were  the  same ; 
— the  same  insults,  the  same  torments,  the  same  brutalities — all 
were  renewed,  save  that  the  period  of  my  agony  was  not  so  pro- 
longed. I  became  sensible  to  an  incision  in  my  arm,  though 
the  hand  that  made  it  was  not  visible ;  at  the  same  moment  my 
persecutors  paused ;  they  were  manifestly  disconcerted,  and  the 
companion  of  him,  whose  name  shall  never  more  pass  my  lips, 
muttered  something  to  his  abettor  in  evident  agitation;  the 
formula  of  an  oath  of  horrible  import  was  dictated  to  me  in 
terms  fearfully  distinct.  I  refused  it  unhesitatingly ;  again  and 
again  was  it  proposed,  with  menaces  I  tremble  to  think  on — but 
I  refused;  the  same  sound  was  heard — interruption  was  evi- 
dently apprehended, — the  same  ceremony  was  hastily  repeated, 
and  I  again  found  myself  released,  lying  on  my  own  bed,  with 
my  mother  and  my  sister  weeping  over  me.     0  God !  0  God ! 


156  SINGULAR  PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE   OF 

when  and  how  is  this  to  end  ? — When  will  my  spirit  be  left  in 
peace  ? — Where  or  with  whom  shall  I  find  refuge  ?' 

"  It  is  impossible  to  convey  any  adequate  idea  of  the  emotions 
with  which  this  unhappy  girl's  narrative  affected  me.  It  must 
not  be  supposed  that  her  story  was  delivered  in  the  same  con- 
tinuous and  uninterrupted  strain  in  which  I  have  transcribed 
its  substance.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  not  without  frequent 
intervals,  of  longer  or  shorter  duration,  that  her  account  was 
brought  to  a  conclusion :  indeed,  many  passages  of  her  strange 
dream  were  not  without  the  greatest  difficulty  and  reluctance 
communicated  at  all.  My  task  was  no  easy  one ;  never,  in  the 
course  of  a  long  life  spent  in  the  active  duties  of  my  Christian 
calling, — never  had  I  been  summoned  to  such  a  conference 
before. 

"  To  the  half-avowed  and  palliated  confession  of  committed 
guilt  I  had  often  listened,  and  pointed  out  the  only  road  to 
secure  its  forgiveness.  I  had  succeeded  in  cheering  the  spirit 
of  despondency,  and  sometimes  even  in  calming  the  ravings  of 
despair ;  but  here  I  had  a  different  enemy  to  combat,  an  in- 
eradicable prejudice  to  encounter,  evidently  backed  by  no  com- 
mon share  of  superstition,  and  confirmed  by  the  mental  weak- 
ness attendant  upon  severe  bodily  pain.  To  argue  the  sufferer 
out  of  an  opinion  so  rooted  was  a  hopeless  attempt.  I  did, 
however,  essay  it ;  I  spoke  to  her  of  the  strong  and  mysterious 
connection  maintained  between  our  waking  images  and  those 
which  haunt  us  in  our  dreams,  and  more  especially  during  that 
morbid  oppression  commonly  called  nightmare.  I  was  even 
enabled  to  adduce  myself  as  a  strong  and  living  instance  of  the 
excess  to  which  fancy  sometimes  carries  her  freaks  on  those 
occasions ;  while,  by  an  odd  coincidence,  the  impression  made 
upon  my  own  mind,  which  I  adduced  as  an  example,  bore  no 
slight  resemblance  to  her  own.  I  stated  to  her  that  on  my 
recovery  from  the  fit  of  epilepsy  which  had  attacked  me  about 
two  years  since,  just  before  my  grandson  Frederick  left  Oxford, 
it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  I  could  persuade  myself  that  I 
had  not  visited  him,  during  the  interval,  in  his  rooms  at  Braze- 

noee,  and  even  conversed  with  himself  and  his  friend  W , 

seated  in  his  arm-chair,  and  gazing  through  the  window  full 
upon  the  statue  of  Cain,  as  it  stands  in  the  centre  of  the  quad- 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  D.D.  157 

rangle,  I  told  her  of  the  pain  I  underwent  both  at  the  com- 
mencement and  termination  of  my  attack  ;  of  the  extreme 
lassitude  that  succeeded ;  but  my  efforts  were  all  in  vain :  she 
listened  to  me,  indeed,  with  an  interest  almost  breathless,  espe- 
cially when  I  informe<l  her  of  my  having  actually  experienced 
the  very  burning  sensation  in  the  brain  alluded  to,  no  doubt  a 
strong  attendant  symptom  of  this  peculiar  affection,  and  a  proof 
of  the  identity  of  the  complaint ;  but  I  could  plainly  perceive 
that  I  failed  entirely  in  shaking  the  rooted  opinion  which  pos- 
sessed her,  that  her  spirit  had,  by  some  nefarious  and  unhal- 
lowed means,  been  actually  subtracted  for  a  time  from  its 
earthly  tenement." 


The  nest  extract  which  I  shall  give  from  my  old  friend's 
memoranda  is  dated  August  24th,  more  than  a  week  subsequent 
to  his  first  visit  at  Mrs.  Graham's.  He  appears,  from  his 
papers,  to  have  visited  the  poor  young  woman  more  than  once 
during  the  interval,  and  to  have  afforded  her  those  spiritual 
consolations  which  no  one  was  more  capable  of  communicating. 
His  patient,  for  so  in  a  religious  sense  she  may  well  be  termed, 
had  been  sinking  under  the  agitation  she  had  experienced  ;  and 
the  constant  dread  she  was  under  of  similar  sufferings  operated 
so  strongly  on  a  frame  already  enervated  that  life  at  length 
seemed  to  hang  only  by  a  thread.     His  papers  go  on  to  say — 

"  I  have  just  seen  poor  Mary  Graham, — I  fear  for  the  last 
time.  Nature  is  evidently  quite  worn  out ;  she  is  aware  that 
she  is  dying,  and  looks  forward  to  the  termination  of  her  exist- 
ence here,  not  only  with  resignation  but  with  joy.  It  is  clear 
that  her  dream,  or  what  she  persists  in  calling  her  '  subtraction,' 
has  much  to  do  with  this.  For  the  last  three  days  her  beha%'ior 
has  been  altered ;  she  has  avoided  conversing  on  the  subject  of 
her  delusion,  and  seems  to  wish  that  I  should  consider  her  as  a 
convert  to  my  view  of  her  case.  This  may,  perhaps,  be  partly 
owing  to  the  flippancies  of  her  medical  attendant  upon  the  sub- 
ject, for  Mr.  I has,  somehow  or  other,  got  an  inkling  that 

she  has  been  much  agitated  by  a  dream,  and  thinks  to  laugh 
off  the  impression — in  my  opinion  injudiciously  ;  but  though  a 


158  SINGULAR  PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE  OF 

skillful  and  a  kind-hearted,  he  is  a  young  man,  and  of  a  dis- 
position, perhaps,  rather  too  mercurial  for  the  chamber  of  a 
nervous  invalid.  Her  manner  has  since  been  much  more  re- 
served to  both  of  us :  in  my  case,  probably  because  she  suspects 
me  of  betraying  her  secret." 


"August  26th. — Mary  Graham  is  yet  alive,  but  sinking  fast; 
her  cordiality  towards  me  has  returned  since  her  sister  confessed 

yesterday  that  she  had  herself  told  Mr.  I that  his  patient's 

mind  '  had  been  affected  by  a  terrible  vision.'  I  am  evidently 
restored  to  her  confidence.  She  asked  me  this  morning,  with 
much  earnestness,  *  What  I  believed  to  be  the  state  of  departed 
spirits  during  the  interval  between  dissolution  and  the  final 
day  of  account  ?  And  whether  I  thought  they  would  be  safe, 
in  another  world,  from  the  influence  of  wicked  persons  em- 
ploying an  agency  more  than  human?'  Poor  child!  One 
cannot  mistake  the  prevailing  bias  of  her  mind.     Poor  child !" 


"  August  27th. — It  is  nearly  over ;  she  is  sinking  rapidly,  but 
quietly  and  without  pain.  I  have  just  administered  to  her  the 
sacred  elements,  of  which  her  mother  partook.  Elizabeth 
declined  doing  the  same:  she  cannot,  she  says,  yet  bring 
herself  to  forgive  the  villain  who  has  destroyed  her  sister. 
It  is  singular  that  she,  a  young  woman  of  good  plain  sense 
in  ordinary  matters,  should  so  easily  adopt,  and  so  pert- 
inaciously retain,  a  superstition  so  puerile  and  ridiculous. 
This  must  be  matter  of  a  future  conversation  between  us; 
at  present,  with  the  form  of  the  dying  girl  before  her  eyes, 
it  were  vain  to  argue  with  her.  The  mother,  I  find,  has 
written  to  young  Somers,  stating  the  dangerous  situation  of 
his  aflfianced  wife;  indignant,  as  she  justly  is,  at  his  long 
silence,  it  is  fortunate  that  she  has  no  knowledge  of  the  sus- 
picions entertained  by  her  daughter.  I  have  seen  her  letter ; 
it  is  addressed  to  Mr.  Francis  Somers,  in  the  Hogewoert,  at 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  D.D.  159 

Leyden — a  fellow-student,  then,  of  Frederick's.      I   must   re- 
member to  inquire  if  he  is  acquainted  with  this  young  man." 


Mary  Graham,  it  appears,  died  the  same  night.  Before  her 
departure,  she  repeated  to  my  friend  the  singular  story  she 
had  before  told  him,  without  any  material  variation  from 
the  detail  she  had  formerly  given.  To  the  last  she  persisted 
in  believing  that  her  unworthy  lover  had  practiced  upon 
her  by  forbidden  arts.  She  once  more  described  the  apart- 
ment with  great  minuteness,  and  even  the  person  of  Francis's 
alleged  companion,  who  was,  she  said,  about  the  middle  height, 
hard-featured,  with  a  rather  remarkable  scar  upon  his  left 
cheek,  extending  in  a  transverse  direction  from  below  the 
eye  to  the  nose.  Several  pages  of  my  reverend  friend's  man- 
uscript are  filled  with  reflections  upon  this  extraordinary 
confession,  which,  joined  with  its  melancholy  termination, 
seems  to  have  produced  no  common  eifect  upon  him.  He 
alludes  to  more  than  one  subsequent  discussion  with  the  sur- 
viving sister,  and  piques  himself  on  having  made  some  progress 
in  convincing  her  of  the  folly  of  her  theory  respecting  the 
origin  and  nature  of  the  illness  itself. 

His  memoranda  on  this  and  other  subjects  are  continued 
till  about  the  middle  of  September,  Avhen  a  break  ensues, 
occasioned,  no  doubt,  by  the  unwelcome  news  of  his  grandson's 
dangerous  state,  which  induces  him  to  set  out  forthwith  for 
Holland.     His  arrival  at  Leyden  was,  as  I  have  already  said, 

too  late.     Frederick  S had   expired   after  thirty  hours' 

intense  suffering,  from  a  wound  received  in  a  duel  with  a 
brother  student.  The  cause  of  quarrel  was  variously  related ; 
but,  according  to  his  landlord's  version,  it  had  originated  in 
some  silly  dispute  about  a  dream  of  his  antagonist's,  who  had 
been  the  challenger.  Such,  at  least,  was  the  account  given 
to  him,  as  he  said,  by  Frederick's  friend  and  fellow-lodger, 
W ,  who  had  acted  as  second  on  the  occasion,  thus  ac- 
quitting himself  of  an  obligation  of  the  same  kind  due  to  the 
deceased,  whose  services  he  had  put  in  requisition  about  a  year 


160  SINGULAR  PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE   OF 

before  on  a  similar  occasion,  when  he  had  himself  been  severely- 
wounded  in  the  face. 

From  the  same  authority  I  learned  that  my  poor  friend  was 
much  affected  on  finding  that  his  arrival  had  been  deferred  too 
long.     Every  attention  was  shown  him  by  the  proprietor  of 
the  house,  a  respectable  tradesman,  and  a  chamber  was  pre- 
pared for  his  accommodation;  the  books  and  few  effects  of 
his  deceased  grandson  were  delivered  over  to  him,  duly  in- 
ventoried, and,  late  as  it  was  in  the  evening  when  he  reached 
Leyden,  he  insisted  on  being  conducted  immediately  to  the 
apartments  which  Frederick  had  occupied,  there  to  indulge 
the  first  ebullitions  of  his  sorrow,  before  he  retired  to  his  own. 
Madame  Midler  accordingly  led  the  way  to  an  upper  room, 
which,  being  situated  at  the  top  of  the  house,  had  been,  from 
its  privacy  and  distance  from  the  street,  selected  by  Frederick 
as  his  study.     The  Doctor  entered,  and  taking  the  lamp  from 
his  conductress  motioned  to  be  left  alone.     His  implied  wish 
was   of   course   complied  with:    and   nearly  two    hours  had 
elapsed  before  his  kind-hearted  hostess  reascended,  in  the  hope 
of  prevailing  upon  him  to   return  with  her,  and   partake  of 
that  refreshment  which  he  had  in  the  first  instance  peremptorily 
declined.     Her  application  for-  admission  was  unnoticed : — she 
repeated  it  more  than  once,  without  success;  then,  becoming 
somewhat  alarmed  at  the  continued  silence,  opened  the  door 
and   perceived   her  new  inmate  stretched   on   the  floor  in  a 
fainting  fit.     Kestoratives   were  instantly   administered,   and 
prompt  medical  aid  succeeded  at  length  in  restoring  him  to 
consciousness.      But   his    mind   had    received   a   shock   from 
which,  during  the  few  weeks   he  survived,  it   never   entirely- 
recovered.     His  thoughts  wandered  perpetually ;  and  though, 
from  the  very  slight  acquaintance  which  his  hosts  had  with 
the  English  language,  the  greater  part  of  what  fell  from  him 
remained   unknown,   yet    enough   was    understood   to   induce 
them  to  believe  that  something  more  than  the  mere  death  of 
his  grandson  had  contributed  thus  to  paralyze  his  faculties. 

When  his  situation  was  first  discovered,  a  small  miniature 
was  found  tightly  grasped  in  his  right  hand.  It  had  been 
the  property  of  Frederick,  and  had  more  than  once  been  seen 
by  the  Midlers  in  his  possession.     To  this  the  patient  made 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  D.D.  161 

contiuued  reference,  and  would  not  suffer  it  one  moment  from 
his  sight :  it  was  in  his  hand  when  he  expired.  At  my  request 
it  was  produced  to  me.  The  portrait  was  that  of  a  young 
woman,  in  an  English  morning  dress,  whose  pleasing  and 
regular  features,  with  their  mild  and  somewhat  pensive  ex- 
pression, were  not,  I  thought,  altogether  unknown  to  me. 
Her  age  was  apparently  about  twenty.  A  profusion  of  dark 
chestnut  hair  was  arranged  in  the  Madonna  style  above  a  brow 
of  unsullied  whiteness,  a  single  ringlet  depending  on  the  left 
side.  A  glossy  lock  of  the  same  color,  and  evidently  belonging 
to  the  original,  appeared  beneath  a  small  crystal,  inlaid  in 
the  back  of  the  picture,  which  was  plainly  set  in  gold,  and 
bore  in  a  cipher  the  letters  M.  G.,  with  the  date  18 — .  From 
the  inspection  of  this  portrait  I  could  at  the  time  collect 
nothing,  nor  from  that  of  the  Doctor  himself,  which,  also, 
I  found  the  next  morning  in  Frederick's  desk,  accompanied 
by  two  separate  portions  of  hair.  One  of  them  was  a  lock, 
short  and  deeply  tinged  with  gray,  and  had  been  taken,  I 
have  little  doubt,  from  the  head  of  my  old  friend  himself; 
the  other  corresponded  in  color  and  appearance  with  that  at 
the  back  of  the  miniature.  It  was  -not  till  a  few  days  had 
elapsed,  and  I  had  seen  the  worthy  Doctor's  remains  quietly 
consigned  to  the  narrow  house,  that,  while  arranging  his 
papers  previous  to  my  intended  return  upon  the  morrow, 
I  encountered  the  narrative  I  have  already  transcribed.  The 
name  of  the  unfortunate  young  woman  connected  with  it 
forcibly  arrested  my  attention.  I  recollected  it  immediately 
as  one  belonging  to  a  parishioner  of  my  own,  and  at  once 
recognized  the  original  of  the  female  portrait  as  its  owner. 

I  rose  not  from  the  perusal  of  his  very  singular  statement 
till  I  had  gone  through  the  whole  of  it.  It  was  late,  and 
the  rays  of  the  single  lamp  by  which  I  was  reading  did  but 
very  faintly  illumine  the  remoter  parts  of  the  room  in  which 
I  sat.  The  brilliancy  of  an  unclouded  November  moon,  then 
some  twelve  nights  old,  and  shining  full  into  the  apartment, 
did  much  towards  remedying  the  defect.  My  thoughts  filled 
with  the  melancholy  details  I  had  read,  I  rose  and  walked  to 
the  window.  The  beautiful  planet  rose  high  in  the  firmament, 
and  gave  to  the  snowy  roofs  of  the  houses,  and  pendent  icicles, 
11 


162  SINGULAR   PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE   OF 

all  the  sparkling  radiance  of  clustering  gems.  The  stillness 
of  the  scene  harmonized  well  with  the  state  of  my  feelings. 
I  threw  open  the  casement  and  looked  abroad.  Far  below  me 
the  waters  of  the  principal  canal  shone  like  a  broad  mirror  in 
the  moonlight.  To  the  left  rose  the  Burght,  a  huge  round 
tower  of  remarkable  appearance,  pierced  with  embrasures  at 
its  summit ;  while  a  little  to  the  right,  and  in  the  distance,  the 
spire  and  pinnacles  of  the  Cathedral  of  Leyden  rose  in  all 
their  majesty,  presenting  a  coxq->  cVoeil  of  surpassing  though 
simple  beauty.  To  a  spectator  of  calm,  unoccupied  mind,  the 
scene  would  have  been  delightful.  On  me  it  acted  with  an 
electric  effect.  I  turned  hastily  to  survey  the  apartment  in 
which  I  had  been  sitting.     It  was  the  one  designated  as  the 

study  of  the  late  Frederick  S .     The  sides  of  the  room 

were  covered  with  dark  wainscot ;  the  spacious  fireplace  oppo- 
site to  me,  with  its  polished  andirons,  was  surmounted  by  a 
large  old-fashioned  mantlepiece,  heavily  carved  in  the  Dutch 
style  with  fruits  and  flowers ;  above  it  frowned  a  portrait,  in  a 
Vandyke  dress,  with  a  peaked  beard  and  moustaches ;  one  hand 
of  the  figure  rested  on  a  table,  while  the  other  bore  a  marshal's 
staff,  surmounted  with  a  silver  falcon ;  and  either  my  imagin- 
ation, already  heated  by  the  scene,  deceived  me,  or  a  smile  as 
of  malicious  triumph  curled  the  lip  and  glared  in  the  cold 
leaden  eye  that  seemed  fixed  upon  my  own.  The  heavy 
antique  cane-backed  chairs,  the  large  oaken  table,  the  book- 
shelves, the  scattered  volumes,— all,  all  were  there ;  while,  to 
complete  the  picture,  to  my  right  and  left,  as  half  breathless 
I  leaned  my  back  against  the  casement,  rose,  on  each  side,  a 
tall,  dark  ebony  cabinet,  in  whose  polished  sides  the  single 
lamp  upon  the  table  shone  reflected  as  in  a  mirror. 


"What  am  I  to  think?— Can  it  be  that  the  story  I  have  been 
reading  was  written  by  my  poor  friend  here,  and  under  the  in- 
fluence of  delirium  ?— Impossible !  Besides,  they  all  assure  me 
that  from  that  fatal  night  of  his  arrival  he  never  left  his  bed- 
never  put  pen  to  paper.  His  very  directions  to  have  me  sum- 
moned from  England  were  verbally  given,  during  one  of  those 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  D.D.  163 

few  and  brief  intervals  in  which  reason  seemed  partially  to  re- 
sume her  sway.     Can  it  then  be  possible  that ?     W ? 

where  is  he  who  alone  may  be  able  to  throw  light  on  this  horri- 
ble mystery  ?  No  one  knows.  He  absconded,  it  seems,  imme- 
diately after  the  duel.  No  trace  of  him  exists,  nor,  after 
repeated  and  anxious  inquiries,  can  I  find  that  any  student  has 
ever  been  known  in  the  University  of  Leydcu  by  the  name  of 
Francis  Somers. 

"  There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth 
Than  are  dreamt  of  in  your  philosophy !" 


Father  John  Ingoldsby,  to  whose  papers  I  am  largely 
indebted  for  the  saintly  records  which  follow,  was  brought  up 
by  his  father,  a  cadet  of  the  family,  in  the  Romish  faith,  and 
was  educated  at  Douai  for  the  church.  Besides  the  manuscripts 
now  at  Tappington,  he  was  the  author  of  two  controversial 
treatises  on  the  connection  between  the  Papal  Hierarchy  and 
the  Nine  of  Diamonds. 

From  his  well-known  loyalty,  evinced  by  secret  services  to 
the  Royal  cause  during  the  Protectorate,  he  was  excepted  by 
name  out  of  the  acts  against  the  Papists,  became  superintend- 
ent of  the  Queen  Dowager's  chapel  at  Somerset  House,  and 
enjoyed  a  small  pension  until  his  death,  which  took  place  in  the 
third  year  of  Queen  Anne  (1704),  at  the  mature  age  of  ninety- 
six.  He  was  an  ecclesiastic  of  great  learning  and  piety,  but, 
from  the  stifi"  and  antiquated  phraseology  which  he  adopted,  I 
have  thought  it  necessary  to  modernize  it  a  little :  this  ^vill 
account  for  certain  anachronisms  that  have  unavoidably  crept 
in;  the  substance  of  his  narratives  has,  however,  throughout 
been  strictly  adhered  to. 

His  hair-shirt,  almost  as  good  as  new,  is  still  preserved  at 
Tappington, — but  nobody  ever  wears  it. 


164  TEE  JACKDAW   OF  RUEIMS. 


Ef)e  Jacifetrato  of  Mi)eimg. 


"  Tunc  miser  Corvus  adeo  conscientiae  stimulis  compunctus  fuit,  et  execratio  eum 

tantopere  excarneficavit,  ut  exinde  tabescere  inciperet,  inaciem  contraheret,  omnem 
cibum  aversaretur,  nee  ampliils  crocitaret :  pennee  prseterea  ei  defluebant,  et  alls  pen- 
dulis  omnes  facetiaa  intermisit,  ettam  macer  apparuitutomnesejus  miserescent."  *  * 
"Tunc  abbas  sacerdotibus  mandavit  ut  rursus  furem  absolverent ;  quo  facto,  Corvus, 
omnibus  mirantibus,  propediem  convaluit,  et  pristinam  sanitatem  recuperavit." 

De  Illust.  Ord.  Cisterc. 

THE  Jackdaw  sat  on  the  Cardinal's  chair ! 
Bishop,  and  Abbot,  and  Prior  were  there ; 

Many  a  monk,  and  many  a  friar, 

Many  a  knight,  and  many  a  squire. 
With  a  great  many  more  of  lesser  degree — 
In  sooth  a  goodly  company ; 
And  they  served  the  Lord  Primate  on  bended  knee. 

Never,  I  ween.  Was  a  prouder  seen, 
Read  of  in  books,  or  dreamt  of  in  dreams, 
Than  the  Cardinal  Lord  Archbishop  of  Rheims ! 

In  and  out    Through  the  motley  rout. 
That  little  Jackdaw  kept  hoppiug  about ; 

Here  and  there    Like  a  dog  in  a  fair. 

Over  comfits  and  cakes,     And  dishes  and  plates, 
Cowl  and  cope,  and  rochet  and  pall. 
Mitre  and  crosier !  he  hopped  upon  all ! 

With  saucy  air.     He  perched  on  the  chair 
Where,  in  state,  the  great  Lord  Cardinal  sat 
In  the  great  Lord  Cardinal's  great  red  hat ; 

And  he  peered  in  the  face    Of  his  Lordship's  Grace, 
With  a  satisfied  look,  as  if  he  would  say, 
"  We  two  are  the  greatest  folks  here  to-day !" 

And  the  priests,  with  awe.     As  such  freaks  they  saw, 
Said,  "  The  devil  must  be  in  that  little  Jackdaw !" 

The  feast  was  over,  the  board  was  cleared. 

The  flawns  and  the  custards  had  all  disappeared. 


THE  JACKDAW  OF  RHEIMS.  165 

And  six  little  Singing-boys, — dear  little  souls ! 
lu  nice  clean  faces,  and  nice  white  stoles, 

Came,  in  order  due,     Two  by  two. 
Marching  that  grand  refectory  through ! 

A  nice  little  boy  held  a  golden  ewer. 
Embossed  and  filled  with  water,  as  pure 
As  any  that  flows  between  Rheims  and  Namur, 
Which  a  nice  little  boy  stood  ready  to  catch 
In  a  fine  golden  hand-basin  made  to  match. 
Two  nice  little  boys,  rather  more  grown, 
Carried  lavender-water  and  eau  de  Cologne ; 
And  a  nice  little  boy  had  a  nice  cake  of  soap, 
Worthy  of  washing  the  hands  of  the  Pope. 

One  little  boy  more    A  napkin  bore, 
Of  the  best  white  diaper,  fringed  with  pink, 
And  a  Cardinal's  Hat  marked  in  *'  permanent  ink." 

The  great  Lord  Cardinal  turns  at  the  sight 
Of  these  nice  little  boys  dressed  all  in  white : 

From  his  finger  he  draws     His  costly  turquoise ; 
And,  not  thinking  at  all  about  little  Jackdaws, 

Deposits  it  straight    By  the  side  of  his  plate, 
Wliile  the  nice  little  boys  on  his  Eminence  wait ; 
Till,  when  nobody's  dreaming  of  any  such  thing, 
That  little  Jackdaw  hops  ofi"  with  the  ring ! 


There's  a  cry  and  a  shout.    And  a  deuce  of  a  rout, 
And  nobody  seems  to  know  what  they're  about, 
But  the  monks  have  their  pockets  all  turned  inside  out ; 

The  friars  are  kneeling.     And  hunting,  and  feeling 
The  carpet,  the  floor,  and  the  walls,  and  the  ceiling. 

The  Cardinal  drew    Ofi"  each  plum-colored  shoe, 
And  left  his  red  stockings  exposed  to  the  view ; 

He  peeps,  and  he  feels     In  the  toes  and  the  heels ; 
They  turn  up  the  dishes, — they  turn  up  the  plates, — 
They  take  up  the  poker  and  poke  out  the  grates, 


166  THE  JACKDAW  OF  EHEIMS. 

— They  turn  up  the  rugs,     They  examine  the  mugs : — 
But  no !— no  such  thing  ;—     They  can't  find  the  ring  ! 
And  the  Abbot  declared  that  "  when  nobody  twigged  it, 
Some  rascal  or  other  had  popped  in  and  prigged  it !" 

The  Cardinal  rose  with  a  dignified  look. 

He  called  for  his  candle,  his  bell,  and  his  book ! 
In  holy  anger,  and  pious  grief, 
He  solemnly  cursed  that  rascally  thief  1 
He  cursed  him  at  board,  he  cursed  him  in  bed ; 
From  the  sole  of  his  foot  to  the  crown  of  his  head  ; 
He  cursed  him  in  sleeping,  that  every  night 
He  should  dream  of  the  devil,  and  wake  in  a  fright ; 
He  cursed  him  in  eating,  he  cursed  him  in  drinking, 
He  cursed  him  in  coughing,  in  sneezing,  in  winking ; 
He  cursed  him  in  sitting,  in  standing,  in  lying ; 
He  cursed  him  in  walking,  in  riding,  in  flying. 
He  cursed  him  in  living,  he  cursed  him  in  dying  !— 

Never  was  heard  such  a  terrible  curse ! 

But  what  gave  rise    To  no  little  surprise, 

Nobody  seemed  one  penny  the  worse 


.! 


The  day  was  gone,    The  night  came  on. 
The  Monks  and  the  Friars  they  searched  till  dawn ; 

When  the  Sacristan  saw,    On  crumpled  claw. 
Come  limping  a  poor  little  lame  Jackdaw ; 

No  longer  gay.     As  on  yesterday ; 
His  feathers  all  seemed  to  be  turned  the  wrong  way  ;— 
His  pinions  drooped— he  could  hardly  stand, — 
His  head  was  as  bald  as  the  palm  of  your  hand ; 

His  eye  so  dim.     So  wasted  each  limb, 
That,  heedless  of  grammar,  they  all  cried,  "  That's  him  !— 
That's  the  scamp  that  has  done  this  scandalous  thing ! 
That's  the  thief  that  has  got  my  Lord  Cardinal's  Ring !" 

The  poor  little  Jackdaw,     When  the  monks  he  saw, 
Feebly  gave  vent  to  the  ghost  of  a  caw ; 
And  turned  his  bald  head,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Pray,  be  so  good  as  to  walk  this  way  1" 


TEE  JACKDAW  OF  RHEIMS.  167 

Slower  and  slower    He  limped  on  before, 
Till  they  came  to  the  back  of  the  belfry  door, 

Where  the  first  thing  they  saw,     'Midst  the  sticks  and 
the  straw, 
"Was  the  king  in  the  nest  of  that  little  Jackdaw ! 

Then  the  great  Lord  Cardinal  called  for  his  book, 
And  off  that  terrible  curse  he  took ; 

The  mute  expression     Served  in  lieu  of  confession, 
And,  being  thus  coupled  with  full  restitution. 
The  Jackdaw  got  plenary  absolution ! 

— When  those  words  were  heard,     That  poor  little  bird 
Was  so  changed  in  a  moment,  'twas  really  absurd ; 
He  grew  sleek  and  fat ;     In  addition  to  that, 
A  fresh  crop  of  feathers  came  thick  as  a  mat ! 

His  tail  waggled  more     Even  than  before ; 
But  no  longer  it  wagged  with  an  impudent  air, 
No  longer  he  perched  on  the  Cardinal's  chair. 

He  hopped  now  about    With  a  gait  devout ; 
At  Matins,  at  Vespers,  he  never  was  out ; 
And,  so  far  from  any  more  pilfering  deeds. 
He  always  seemed  telling  the  Confessor's  beads. 
If  any  one  lied, — or  if  any  one  swore, — 
Or  slumbered  in  prayer-time  and  happened  to  snore, 

That  good  Jackdaw     Would  give  a  great  "  Caw !" 
As  much  as  to  say,  "  Don't  do  so  any  more !" 
While  many  remarked,  as  his  manners  they  saw, 
That  they  "  never  had  known  such  a  pious  Jackdaw !" 

He  long  lived  the  pride     Of  that  country  side. 
And  at  last  in  the  odor  of  sanctity  died ; 

When,  as  words  were  too  faint    His  merits  to  paint, 
The  Conclave  determined  to  make  him  a  Saint ; 
And  on  newly-made  Saints  and  Popes,  as  you  know, 
It's  the  custom,  at  Rome,  new  names  to  bestow. 
So  they  canonized  him  by  the  name  of  Jim  Crow  I 


168  A  LAY  OF  ST.  DUNSTAN. 


E  Eag  of  St.  ©ungtan. 


"  0tf)ijs  i&olj  t!)iIIiE  :JIDunstait  kias  iiornt  in  jt  's^txt  of  out  3LorIlt  ix.  i^uninlr 
&  XXV.  t^at  tjmt  rtjn^nst  in  i%is  lonbt  3S;ittst  Sltltljeton. 

"  5Mf)an  it  so  ixias  ti&at  Sajnt  30urtstan;  Jnas  totrj  of  prajtr  ti^an  usc&  %t 
to  tojrkc  in  ^olljsmsttts  bocrfet  toit!)  f)is  oinnt  ibanlJts  for  to  tsrfitfajt  sIitlwB." 

Golden  Legend. 

ST.  DUNSTAN  stood  in  his  ivied  tower, 
Alembic,  crucible,  all  were  there  ; 
When  in  came  Nick  to  play  him  a  trick, 
In  guise  of  a  damsel  passing  fair. 

Every  one  knows     How  the  story  goes : 
He  took  up  the  tongs  and  caught  hold  of  his  nose. 
But  I  beg  that  you  won't  for  a  moment  suppose 
That  I  mean  to  go  through,  in  detail,  to  you 
A  story  at  least  as  trite  as  it's  true ; 

Nor  do  I  intend    An  instant  to  spend 
On  the  tale,  how  he  treated  his  monarch  and  friend, 
When  bolting  away  to  a  chamber  remote, 
Inconceivably  bored  by  his  Witen-gemote, 

Edwy   left  them   all  joking.      And   drinking,   and 
smoking, 
So  tipsily  grand,  they'd  stand  nonsense  from  no  King, 

But  sent  the  Archbishop     Their  Sovereign  to  fish  up, 
With   a  hint   that  perchance   on   his    crown   he  might   feel 

taps 
Unless  he  came  back  straight  and  took  off  his  heel-taps. 
You  must  not  be  plagued  with  the  same  story  twice, 
And  perhaps  have  seen  this  one,  by  W.  Dyce, 


A   LAY  OF  ST.   DUXSTAN.  169 


At  the  Royal  Academy,  very  well  done, 

And  marked  in  the  catalogue,  Four,  seven,  one. 


You  might  there  view  the  Saint,  who  in  sable  arrayed  is, 
Coercing  the  Monarch  away  from  the  Ladies ; 
His  right  hand  has  hold  of  his  Majesty's  jerkin, 
His  left  shows  the  door,  and  he  seems  to  say,  "  Sir  King, 
Your  most  faithful  Commons  Avon't  hear  of  your  shirking ; 
Quit  your  tea,  and  return  to  your  Barclai  and  Pcrkyn ; 
Or,  by  Jingo,*  ere  morning,  no  longer  alive,  a 
Sad  victim  you'll  lie  to  your  love  for  Elgiva !" 

No  further  to  treat     Of  this  ungallant  feat. 
What  I  mean  to  do  now  is  succinctly  to  paint 
One  particular  fact  in  the  life  of  the  Saint, 
Which,  somehow,  for  want  of  due  care,  I  presume. 
Has  escaped  the  researches  of  Rapin  and  Hume, 
In  recounting  a  miracle,  both  of  them  men  who  a 
Great  deal  fall  short  of  Jacques,  Bishop  of  Genoa, 
An  Historian  who  likes  deeds  like  these  to  record — 
See  his  Aurea  Legenda,  by  SHgnfefitt  tl?  SHorXl?, 


St.  Dunstan  stood  again  in  his  tower, 

Alembic,  crucible,  all  complete ; 
He  had  been  standing  a  good  half  hour, 
And  now  he  uttered  the  words  of  power. 

And  called  to  his  Broomstick  to  bring  him  a  seat. 


The  words  of  power ! — and  what  be  they 

To  which  e'en  Broomsticks  bow  and  obey? 

Why, — 'twere  uncommonly  hard  to  say. 

As  the  prelate  I  named  has  recorded  none  of  them. 

What  they  may  be.     But  I  know  they  are  three. 
And  ABRACADABRA,  I  take  it,  is  one  of  them : 


*  St.  Jingo,  or  Gengo  (Gengulphus),  sometimes  styled  "  The  Living  Jingo,"  from  the 
great  tenaciousness  of  vitality  exhibited  by  his  severed  members.  See  his  Legend,  aa 
recorded  hereafter  in  the  present  volume. 


170  A   LAY  OF  ST.   DUNSTAN. 

For  I'm  told  that  most  Cabalists  use  that  identical 
Word,  written  thus,  in  what  they  call  "  a  Pentacle.' 


However  that  be,    You'll  doubtless  agree 
It  signifies  little  to  you  or  to  me, 
As  not  being  dabblers  in  Grammarye ; 
Still,  it  must  be  confessed,  for  a  Saint  to  repeat 
Such  language  aloud  is  scarcely  discreet ; 
For,  as  Solomon  hints  to  folks  given  to  chatter, 
"  A  bird  of  the  air  may  carry  the  matter ;" 

And  in  sooth,     From  my  youth,     I  remember  a  truth 
Insisted  on  much  in  my  earlier  years. 
To  wit,  "  Little  Pitchers  have  very  long  ears !" 
Now,  just  such  a  "  Pitcher"  as  those  I  allude  to 
Was  outside  the  door,  which  his  "  ears  "  appeared  glued  to. 


Peter,  the  Lay-brother,  meagre  and  thin. 

Five  feet  one  in  his  sandal  shoon, 
While  the  Saint  thought  him  sleeping. 
Was  listening  and  peeping. 

And  watching  his  master  the  whole  afternoon. 


A  LAY  OF  ST.  DUNSTAN.  Ill 

This  Peter  the  Saint  had  picked  out  from  his  fellows, 
To  look  to  his  fire,  and  to  blow  with  the  bellows, 
To  put  on  the  Wall's-Ends  and  Lambtons  whenever  he 
Chose  to  indulge  in  a  little  orfevrerie; 

— Of  course  you  have  read     That  St.  Dunstan  was  bred 
A  Goldsmith,  and  never  quite  gave  up  the  trade ! 
The  Company — richest  in  London,  'tis  said — 
Acknowledge  him  still  as  their  Patron  and  Head ; 

Nor  is  it  so  long    Since  a  capital  song 
In  his  praise — now  recorded  their  archives  among — 
Delighted  the  noble  and  dignified  throng 
Of  their  guests,  who,  the  newspapers  told  the  whole  town. 
With  cheers  "  pledged  the  wine-cup  to  Dunstan's  renown," 
When  Lord   Lyndhurst,  The  Duke,  and  Sir  Robert  were 

dining 
At  the  Hall  some  time  since  with  the  Prime  Warden  Twining. — 
— I  am  sadly  digressing — a  fault  which  sometimes 
One  can  hardly  avoid  in  these  gossiping  rhymes — 
A  slight  deviation's  forgiven !  but  then  this  is 
Too  long,  I  fear,  for  a  decent  parenthesis, 
So  I'll  rein  up  my  Pegasus  sharp,  and  retreat,  or 
You'll  think  I've  forgotten  the  Lay-brother  Peter, 

Whom  the  Saint,  as  I  said.     Kept  to  turn  down  his  bed, 
Dress  his  palfreys  and  cobs.     And  do  other  odd  jobs, — 
As  reducing  to  writing     Whatever  he  might,  in 
The  course  of  the  day  or  the  night,  be  inditing. 
And  cleaning  the  plate  of  his  mitre  with  whiting ; 
Performing,  in  short,  all  those  duties  and  offices 
Abbots  exact  from  Lay -brothers  and  Novices. 


It  occurs  to  me  here    You'll  perhaps  think  it  queer 
That  St.  Dunstan  should  have  such  a  personage  near, 

When  he'd   only  to   say    Those  words, — be  what   they 
may,— 
And  his  Broomstick  at  once  his  commands  would  obey. — 

That's  true — but  the  fact  is     'Twas  rarely  his  practice 
Such  aid  to  resort  to,  or  such  means  apply, 
Unless  he'd  some  "  dignified  knot"  to  untie, 


172  A  LAY  OF  ST.  DUNSTAN., 

Adopting,  though  sometimes,  as  now,  he'd  reverse  it, 

Old  Horace's  maxim  "  nee  Broomstick  intersit." — 

— Peter,  the  Lay-brother,  meagre  and  thin, 

Heard  all  the  Saint  was  saying  within ; 

Peter,  the  Lay-brother,  sallow  and  spare, 

Peeped  through  the  keyhole,  and — what  saw  he  there? — 

Why, — A  Broomstick  bringing  a  rush-bottomed  chair! 

What  Shakspeare  observes,  in  his  play  of  King  John, 

Is  undoubtedly  right,    That  "  ofttimes  the  sight 
Of  means  to  do  ill  deeds  will  make  ill  deeds  done." 
Here's  Peter,  the  Lay-brother,  pale-faced  and  meagre, 
A  good  sort  of  man,  only  rather  too  eager 
To  listen  to  what  other  people  are  saying 
When  he  ought  to  be  minding  his  business  or  praying, 
Gets  into  a  scrape,  and  an  awkward  one,  too, — 
As  you'll  j5nd  if  you've  patience  enough  to  go  through 

The  whole  of  the  story     I'm  laying  before  ye, — 
Entirely  from  having  "  the  means"  in  his  view 
Of  doing  a  thing  which  he  ought  not  to  do ! 

Still  rings  in  his  ear,     Distinct  and  clear, 
Abracadabra !  that  word  of  fear ! 
And  the  two  which  I  never  yet  happened  to  hear. 

Still  doth  he  spy.     With  fancy's  eye. 
The  Broomstick  at  work,  and  the  Saint  standing  by ; 
And  he  chuckles,  and  says  to  himself,  with  glee, 
"  Aha !  that  Broomstick  shall  work  for  me!" 


Hark ! — that  swell    O'er  flood  and  o'er  fell, 
Mountain,  and  dingle,  and  moss-covered  dell ! 
List ! — 'tis  the  sound  of  the  Compline  bell ; 
And  St.  Dunstan  is  quitting  his  ivied  cell  ; 

Peter,  I  wot.     Is  off  like  a  shot, 
Or  a  little  dog  scalded  by  something  that's  hot, 
For  he  hears  his  master  approaching  the  spot 
Where  he'd  listened  so  long,  though  he  knew  he  ought  not: 


A    LAY   OF  ST.  DUNSTAN.  173 


Peter  remembered  his  Master's  frown — 

He  trembled — he'd  not  have  been  caught  for  a  crown ; 

Howe'er  you  may  laugh,     He'd  rather,  by  half, 
Have  run  up  to  the  top  of  the  tower  and  jumped  down. 


The  Compline  hour  is  past  and  gone, 
Evening  service  is  over  and  done ; 

The  Monks  repair     To  their  frugal  fare, 
A  snug  little  supper  of  something  light 
And  digestible,  ere  they  retire  for  the  night. 
For,  in  Saxon  times,  in  respect  to  their  cheer, 
St.  Austin's  rule  was  by  no  means  severe. 
But  allowed,  from  the  Beverley  Roll  'twould  appear. 
Bread  and  cheese,  and  spring  onions,  and  sound  table  beer, 
And  even  green  peas,  when  they  were  not  too  dear ; 
Not  like  the  Rule  of  La  Trappe,  whose  chief  merit  is 
Said  to  consist  in  its  greater  austerities ; 
And  whose  Monks,  if  I  rightly  remember  their  laws. 

Ne'er  are  suffered  to  speak,     Think  only  in  Greek, 
And  subsist,  as  the  Bears  do,  by  sucking  their  paws. 

Astonished  I  am     The  gay  Baron  Geramb 
With  his  head  sav'ring  more  of  the  Lion  than  Lamb 
Could  e'er  be  persuaded  to  join  such  a  set — I 
Extend  the  remark  to  Signer  Ambrogetti. — 
For  a  Monk  of  La  Trappe  is  as  thin  as  a  rat. 
While  an  Austin  Friar  was  jolly  and  fat ; 
Though,  of  course,  the  fare  to  which  I  allude, 
With  as  good  table  beer  as  ever  was  brewed, 
Was  all  "  caviare  to  the  multitude," 
Extending  alone  to  the  clergy,  together  in 
Hall  assembled,  and  not  to  Lay-brethren. 
St.  Dunstan  himself  sits  there  at  his  post, 

On  what  they  say  is     Called  a  Dais, 
O'erlooking  the  whole  of  his  clerical  host. 
And  eating  poached  eggs  with  spinach  and  toast; 


174  A   LAY  OF  ST.  BUNS  TAN". 

Five  Lay-brothers  stand  behind  his  chair, 

But  where  is  the  sixth ?— Where's  Peter?— Ay,  WHERE? 

'Tis  an  evening  in  June,     And  a  little  half  moon, 
A  brighter  no  fond  lover  ever  set  eyes  on 

Gleaming  and  beaming,     And  dancing  the  stream  in, 
Has  made  her  appearance  above  the  horizon ; 
Just  such  a  half  moon  as  you  see,  in  a  play. 
On  the  turban  of  Mustapha  Muley  Bey, 
Or  the  fair  Turk  who  weds  with  the  "  Noble  Lord  Bateman ;" 
—  Vide  plate  in  George  Cruikshanks'   memoirs  of  that  great 

man. 
She  shines  on  a  turret  remote  and  lone,, 
A  turret  with  ivy  and  moss  overgrown, 
And  lichens  that  thrive  on  the  cold  dank  stone ; 
Such  a  tower  as  a  poet  of  no  mean  calibre 
I  once  knew  and  loved,  poor,  dear  Reginald  Heber, 
Assigns  to  oblivion* — a  den  for  a  She-Bear ; 

Within  it  are  found.     Strewed  above  and  around. 
On  the  hearth,  on  the  table,  the  shelves,  and  the  ground, 
All  sorts  of  instruments,  all  sorts  of  tools. 
To  name  which,  and  their  uses,  would  puzzle  the  Schools, 
And  make  very  wise  people  look  very  like  fools ; 

Pincers  and  hooks.     And  black-letter  books. 
All  sorts  of  pokers  and  all  sorts  of  tongs. 
And  all  sorts  of  hammers,  and  all  that  belongs 
To  Goldsmiths'  work,  chemistry,  alchemy, — all, 

In  short,  that  a  Sage,     In  that  erudite  age, 
Could  require,  was  at  hand,  or  at  least  within  call. 
In  the  midst  of  the  room  lies  a  Broomstick ! — and  there 
A  Lay -brother  sits  in  a  rush-bottomed  chair ! 

Abracadabra,  that  fearful  word. 

And  the  two  which,  I  said,  I  have  never  yet  heard, 

Are  uttered. — 'Tis  done !     Peter,  full  of  his  fun, 
Cries,  "  Broomstick  !  you  lubberly  son  of  a  gun ! 

*  And  cold  oblivion,  'midst  the  ruin  laid, 
Folds  her  dank  wing  beneath  the  ivy  shade. 

PalesttTie. 


A   LAY  OF  ST.  DUNSTAN.  175 

Bring  ale ! — bring  a  flagon — a  hogshead — a  tun ! 

'Tis  the  same  thing  to  you  ;     I  have  nothing  to  do  ; 
And,  'fore  George,  I'll  sit  here,  and  I'll  drink  till  all's  blue !" 

No  doubt  you've  remarked  how  uncommonly  quick 

A  Newfoundland  puppy  runs  after  a  stick, 

Brings  it  back  to  his  master,  and  gives  it  him — Well, 

So  potent  the  spell. 
The  Broomstick  perceived  it  was  vain  to  rebel, 
So  ran  off  like  that  puppy ; — some  cellar  was  near, 
For  in  less  than  ten  seconds  'twas  back  with  the  beer ! 
Peter  seizes  the  flagon ;  but  ere  he  can  suck 
Its  contents,  or  enjoy  what  he  thinks  his  good  luck. 
The  Broomstick  comes  in  with  a  tub  in  a  truck ; 

Continues  to  run     At  the  rate  it  begun. 
And,  au  pied  de  Icttre,  next  brings  in  a  tun  ; 
A  fresh  one  succeeds,  then  a  third,  then  another. 
Discomfiting  much  the  astounded  Lay-brother  ; 
Who,  had  he  possessed  fifty  pitchers  or  stoups. 
They  all  had  been  too  few ;  for,  arranging  in  groups 
The  barrels,  the  Broomstick  next  started  the  hoops : 

The  ale  deluged  the  floor,     But  still,  through  the  door. 
Said  Broomstick  kept  bolting,  and  bringing  in  more. 

E'en  Macbeth  to  Macduff 

Would  have  cried  "  Hold  !  enough !" 
If  half  as  well  drenched  with  such  "  perilous  stuff," 
And  Peter,  who  did  not  expect  such  a  rough  visit, 
Cried  lustily,  "  Stop !— That  will  do,  Broomstick  I—aSu^ci^ /" 

But  ah,  well-a-day !     The  Devil,  they  say, 
'Tis  easier  at  all  times  to  raise  than  to  lay. 

Again  and  again     Peter  roared  out  in  vain 
His  Abracadabra,  and  t'other  words  twain : — 

As  well  might  one  try    A  pack  in  full  cry 
To  check,  and  call  off  from  their  headlong  career, 
By  bawling  out  "  Yoicks !"  with  one's  hand  at  one's  ear. 
The  longer  he  roared  and  the  louder  and  quicker. 
The  faster  the  Broomstick  was  bringing  in  liquor. 


176  A   LAY  OF  ST.   DUNSTAN. 

The  poor  Lay-brother  knew     Not  on  earth  what  to  do — 
He  caught  hold  of  the  Broomstick  and  snapt  it  in  two. — 

Worse   and   worse! — like   a  dart,     Each   part  made  a 
start, 
And  he  found  he'd  been  adding  more  fuel  to  fire, 
For  both  now  came  loaded  with  Meux's  entire ; 
Combe's,  Delafield's,  Hanbury's,  Truman's — no  stopping — 
Goding's,  Charrington's,  Whitbread's,  continued  to  drop  in. 
With  Hodson's  pale  ale,  from  the  Sun  Brewhouse,  Wapping. 
The  firms  differed  then,  but  I  can't  put  a  tax  on 
My  memory  to  say  what  their  names  were  in  Saxon. 

To  be  sure  the  best  beer     Of  all  did  not  appear ; 
For  I've  said  'twas  in  June,  and  so  late  in  the  year 
The  "  Trinity  Audit  Ale  "  is  not  come-at-able, 
— As  I've  found  to  my  great  grief  when  dining  at  that  table. 


Now  extremely  alarmed,  Peter  screamed  without  ceasing, 
For  a  flood  of  brown  stout  he  was  up  to  his  knees  in. 
Which,  thanks  to  the  Broomstick,  continued  increasing ; 

He   feared   he'd   be   drowned,     And  he  yelled  till  the 
sound 
Of  his  voice,  winged  by  terror,  at  last  reached  the  ear 
Of  St.  Dunstan  himself,  who  had  finished  his  beer, 
And  had  put  ofi"  his  mitre,  dalmatic,  and  shoes. 
And  was  just  stepping  into  his  bed  for  a  snooze. 

His  Holiness  paused  when  lie  heard  such  a  clatter ; 

He  could  not  conceive  what  on  earth  was  the  matter. 

Slipping  on  a  few  things,  for  the  sake  of  decorum, 

He  issued  forthwith  from  his  Sanctum  sanctorum, 

And  calling  a  few  of  the  Lay-brothers  near  him. 

Who  were  not  yet  in  bed,  and  who  happened  to  hear  him, 

At  once  led  the  way,     Without  further  delay, 
To  the  tower  where  he'd  been  in  the  course  of  the  day. 

Poor  Peter ! — alas !  though  St.  Dunstan  was  quick. 

There  were  two  there  before  him — Grim  Death  and  Old  Nick  !- 


A  LAF  OF  ST.  DUNSTAN.  Ill 

When  they  opened  the  door  out  the  malt-liquor  flowed, 
Just  as  when  the  great  Vat  burst  in  Tott'n'uiu  Court  Road ; 
The  Lay-brothers  nearest  were  up  to  their  necks 
In  an  instant,  and  swimming  in  strong  double  X ; 
While  Peter,  who,  spite  of  himself,  now  had  drank  hard, 
After  floating  awhile,  like  a  toast  in  a  tankard, 

To  the  bottom  had  sunk,     And  was  spied  by  a  monk, 
Stone-dead,  like  poor  Clarence,  half  drowned  and  half  drunk. 


In  vain  did  St.  Dunstan  exclaim,  "  Vade  retro 
Strongbeerum/ — discede  a  Lay-fratre  Petro  !" 

Queer  Latin,  you'll  say,     That  prefix  of  "Lay," 
And  Strongbeerum! — I  own  they'd  have  called   me  a  block- 
head if 
At  school  I  had  ventured  to  use  such  a  Vocative ; 
'Tis  a  barbarous  word,  and  to  me  it's  a  query 
If  you'll  find  it  in  Patrick,  Morell,  or  Moreri ; 
But  the  fact  is,  the  Saint  was  uncommonly  flurried, 
And  apt  to  be  loose  in  his  Latin  when  hurried ; 
The  brown-stout,  however,  obeys  to  the  letter, 
Quite  as  well  as  if  talked  to,  in  Latin  much  better. 

By  a  grave  Cambridge  Johnian,     Or  graver  Oxonian, 
Whose  language,  we  all  know,  is  quite  Ciceronian. 
It  retires  from  the  corpse,  which  is  left  high  and  dry  ; 
But  in  vain  do  they  snufi*  and  hot  towels  apply, 
And  other  means  used  by  the  faculty  try. 

When   once   a   man's   dead      There's   no   more  to  be 
said; 
Peter's  "  Beer  with  an  e  "  was  his  "  Bier  with  an  i .'" 


MORAL. 

By  way  of  a  moral  permit  me  to  pop  in 
The  following  maxims : — Beware  of  eaves-dropping ! — 
Don't  make  use  of  language  that  isn't  well  scanned ! — 
Don't  meddle  with  matters  you  don't  understand ! — 
Above  all,  what  I'd  wish  to  impress  on  both  sexes 
Is, — Keep  clear  of  Broomsticks,  Old  Nick,  and  three  XXX's. 
12 


178  A  LAY  OF  ST.  DUNSTAN. 

L'Envoye. 

In  Goldsmiths'  Hall  there's  a  handsome  glass  case, 

And  in  it  a  stone  figure,  found  on  the  place, 

When,  thinking  the  old  Hall  no  longer  a  pleasant  one, 

They  pulled  it  all  down,  and  erected  the  present  one. 

If  you  look,  you'll  perceive  that  this  stone  figure  twists 

A  thing  like  a  broomstick  in  one  of  its  fists. 

It's  so  injured  by  time,  you  can't  make  out  a  feature ; 

But  it  is  not  St.  Dunstan, — so  doubtless  it's  Peter. 


Gengulphus,  or,  as  he  is  usually  styled  in  this  country, 
"  Jingo,"  was  perhaps  more  in  the  mouths  of  the  "  general " 
than  any  other  Saint,  on  occasions  of  adjuration  (see  note,  page 
169).  Mr.  Simpkinson  from  Bath  has  kindly  transmitted  me 
a  portion  of  a  primitive  ballad,  which  has  escaped  the  researches 
of  Ritson  and  Ellis,  but  is  yet  replete  with  beauties  of  no  com- 
mon order.  I  am  happy  to  say  that,  since  these  Legends  first 
appeared,  I  have  recovered  the  whole  of  it.     Vide  infra. 

"  %  jFranklsn's  tJoasc  Upti  obtr  a:  si^lt, 
%\\ii  fj2S  namt  toajs  littd  Bs^SO- 
B  toitl)  a  g— g  toitf)  an  N— 
N  tott^  a  (5— (5  feitf)  an  ©, 
©fits  xalltlJ  f)2nt  littd  Bsnso ! 

©l&SS  jFranfeljn,  SjrK,  \t  irttocli  sodIij  agU, 
anij  %t  xalltii  it  3a'a«  fiooljj  Stsnao ! 
%.  ®,  i,  N,  (5,  © ! 
^t  tallfll  it  3aart  fiooUe  Stcnso  ! 

NobJE  is  notte  tf)pK  a  prcttit  sons? 
1  tf)inkj  tt  is,  ipj  Ssngo  ! 
3  toSt!)j  a  i— N,  (K,  ©— 
I  Bixitart  gt  is,  l^t  32"S0  •" 


A  LAY  OF  ST.   GENGULPHUS.  179 


a  Hag  of  St.  (5engulpj)us. 

"Non  multopost,  Gengulphus,  in  domo  sua  dormiens,  occisus  est  S.  quodam  clerico 
qui  cum  uxore  sua  adulterare  solebat.  Cujus  corpus  dum,  in  fereto,  in  sepulturam 
portarctur,  multi  infirmi  de  tactu  sanati  sunt." 

"Cum  hoc  illius  uxori  referretur  ab  ancilla  sua,  scilicet  dominum  suum,  quam  mar- 
tyrem  sanctum,  miracula  faccre,  irridens  ilia,  et  subsurrans,  ait,  '  Ita  Gengulphus 
miracula  facitat  ut  pulvinarium  meum  cantat,'"  etc.,  etc. —  Wolfii  Memorab. 

GENGULPHUS  comes  from  the  Holy  Land, 
With  his  scrip,  and  his  bottle,  and  sandal  shoon ; 
Full  many  a  day  hath  he  been  away, 

Yet  his  lady  deems  him  returned  full  soon. 

Full  many  a  day  hath  he  been  away, 

Yet  scarce  had  he  crossed  ayont  the  sea, 
Ere  a  spruce  young  spark  of  a  Learned  Clerk 

Had  called  ou  his  Lady,  and  stopped  to  tea. 

This  spruce  young  guest,  so  trimly  drest, 

Stayed  with  that  Lady,  her  revels  to  crown ; 
They  laughed,  and  they  ate  and  they  drank  of  the  best. 

And  they  turned  the  old  castle  quite  upside  down. 

They  would  walk  in  the  park,  that  spruce  young  Clerk, 
With  that  fi-olicsome  Lady  so  frank  and  free. 

Trying  balls  and  plays,  and  all  manner  of  ways. 
To  get  rid  of  what  French  people  called  Ennui. 


Now  the  festive  board  with  viands  is  stored. 

Savory  dishes  be  there,  I  ween, 
Eich  puddings  and  big,  a  barbecued  pig. 

And  ox-tail  soup  in  a  China  tureen. 

There's  a  flagon  of  ale  as  large  as  a  pail — 

When,  cockle  on  hat,  and  staff  in  hand. 
While  on  nought  they  are  thinking  save  eating  and  drinking, 

Gengulphus  Avalks  in  from  the  Holy  Land ! 


180  A  LAY  OF  ST.   GENGULPHUS. 

"  You  must  be  pretty  deep  to  catch  weasels  asleep," 
Says  the  proverb :  that  is,  "  take  the  Fair  unawares ;" 

A  maid  o'er  the  banisters  chancing  to  peep, 

Whispers,  "  Ma'am,  here's  Gengulphus  a-coming  up  stairs." 

Pig,  pudding,  and  soup,  the  electrified  group. 
With  the  flagon,  pop  under  the  sofa  in  haste, 

And  contrive  to  deposit  the  Clerk  in  the  closet, 
As  the  dish  least  of  all  to  Gengulphus's  taste. 

Then  oh !  what  rapture,  what  joy  was  exprest. 
When  "  poor  dear  Gengulphus  "  at  last  appeared ! 

She  kissed  and  she  pressed  "  the  dear  man"  to  her  breast, 
In  spite  of  his  great,  long,  frizzly  beard. 

Such  hugging  and  squeezing !  'twas  almost  unpleasing, 

A  smile  on  her  lip,  and  a  tear  in  her  eye  ;* 
She  was  so  very  glad  that  she  seemed  half  mad, 

And  did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  or  to  cry. 

Then  she  calls  up  the  maid,  and  the  table-cloth's  laid, 
And  she  sends  for  a  pint  of  the  best  Brown  Stout ; 

On  the  fire,  too,  she  pops  some  nice  mutton-chops. 
And  she  mixes  a  stifi"  glass  of  "  Cold  Without." 

Then  again  she  began  at  the  "  poor  dear  "  man  ; 

She  pressed  him  to  drink,  and  she  pressed  him  to  eat, 
And  she  brought  a  foot-pan,  with  hot  water  and  bran. 

To  comfort  his  "  poor  dear  "  travel-worn  feet. 

"  Nor  night  nor  day  since  he'd  been  away. 

Had  she  had  any  rest,"  she  "  vowed  and  declared ;" 

She  "  never  could  eat  one  morsel  of  meat, 

For  thinking  how  '  poor  dear '  Gengulphus  fared." 

She  "  really  did  think  she  had  not  slept  a  wink 

Since  he  left  her,  although  he'd  been  absent  so  long ;" 

He  here  shook  his  head, — right  little  he  said. 

But  he  thought  she  was  "  coming  it  rather  too  strong." 

*  Eci  SaKpvvi  yihauaaa. — HOH. 


A  LAY  OF  ST.   GENGULPEUS.  181 

Now  his  palate  she  tickles  with  the  chops  and  the  pickles 

Till,  so  great  the  effect  of  that  stiff  gin  grog, 
His  weakened  body,  subdued  by  the  toddy. 

Falls  out  of  the  chair,  and  he  lies  like  a  log. 

Then  out  comes  the  Clerk  from  his  secret  lair ; 

He  lifts  up  the  legs,  and  she  lifts  up  the  head, 
And,  between  them,  this  most  reprehensible  jmir 

Undress  poor  Gengulphus  and  put  him  to  bed. 

Then  the  bolster  they  place  athwart  his  face, 

And  his  nightcap  into  his  mouth  they  cram ; 
And  she  pinches  his  nose  underneath  the  clothes. 

Till  the  "  poor  dear  soul "  goes  off  like  a  lamb. 


And  now  they  tried  the  deed  to  hide ; 

For  a  little  bird  whispered,  "  Perchance  you  may  swing ; 
Here's  a  corpse  in  the  case  with  a  sad  swelled  face. 

And  a  Medical  Crowner's  a  queer  sort  of  thing !" 

So  the  Clerk  and  wife,  they  each  took  a  knife, 

And  the  nippers  that  nipped  the  loaf-sugar  for  tea ; 

With  the  edges  and  points  they  severed  the  joints 
At  the  clavicle,  elbow,  hip,  ankle,  and  knee. 

Thus  limb  from  limb  they  dismembered  him 

So  entirely,  that  e'en  when  they  came  to  his  wrists. 

With  those  great  sugar-nippers  they  nipped  off  his  "  flippers," 
As  the  Clerk,  very  flippantly,  termed  his  fists. 

When  they'd  cut  off  his  head,  entertaining  a  dread 
Lest  folks  should  remember  Gengulphus's  face, 

They  determined  to  throw  it  where  no  one  could  know  it, 
Down  the  well, — and  the  limbs  in  some  different  place. 

But  first  the  long  beard  from  the  chin  they  sheared, 

And  managed  to  stuff  that  sanctified  hair. 
With  a  good  deal  of  pushing,  all  into  the  cushion 

That  filled  up  the  seat  of  a  large  arm-chair. 


182  A  LAY  OF  ST.   GENGULPIIUS. 

They  contrived  to  pack  up  the  trunk  in  a  sack, 
Which  they  hid  in  an  osier-bed  outside  the  town, 

The  Clerk  bearing  arms,  legs,  and  all  on  his  back, 
As  that  vile  Mr.  Greenacre  served  Mrs.  Brown. 

But  to  see  now  how  strangely  things  sometimes  turn  out, 
And  that  in  a  manner  the  least  expected ! 

Who  could  surmise  a  man  ever  could  rise 

Who'd  been  thus  carbonadoed,  cut  up,  and  dissected  ? 

No  doubt  'twould  surprise  the  pupils  at  Guy's  ; 

I  am  no  unbeliever — no  man  can  say  that  o'  me — 
But  St.  Thomas  himself  would  scarce  trust  his  own  eyes 

If  he  saw  such  a  thing  in  his  School  of  Anatomy. 

You  may  deal  as  you  please  with  Hindoos  and  Chinese, 
Or  a  Mussulman  making  his  heathen  salaam,  or 

A  Jew  or  a  Turk,  but  it's  other  guess  work 

When  a  man  has  to  do  with  a  Pilgrim  or  Palmer. 


By  chance  the  Prince  Bishop,  a  Royal  Divine, 

Sends  his  cards  round  the  neighborhood  next  day,  and  urges  his 
Wish  to  receive  a  snug  party  to  dine 

Of  the  resident  clergy,  the  gentry,  and  burgesses. 

At  a  quarter  past  five  they  are  all  alive 

At  the  palace,  for  coaches  are  fast  rolling  in ; 

And  to  every  guest  his  card  had  expressed 
"  Half-past"  as  the  hour  for  a  "  greasy  chin." 

Some  thirty  are  seated,  and  handsomely  treated 

With  the  choicest  Rhine  wines  in  his  Highness's  stock, 

When  a  Count  of  the  Empire,  who  felt  himself  heated, 
Requested  some  water  to  mix  with  his  Hock. 

The  Butler,  who  saw  it,  sent  a  maid  out  to  draw  it. 
But  scarce  had  she  given  the  windlass  a  twirl. 

Ere  Gengulphus's  head,  from  the  well's  bottom,  said 
In  mild  accents,  "  Do  help  us  out,  that's  a  good  girl !" 


A  LAY  OF  ST.  GENGULPHUS.  183 

Only  fancy  her  dread  when  she  saw  a  great  head 

In  her  bucket ;— with  fright  she  was  ready  to  drop : — 

Conceive,  if  you  can,  how  she  roared  and  she  ran, 
With  the  head  rolling  after  her,  bawling  out  "  Stop !" 

She  ran  and  she  roared,  till  she  came  to  the  board 
Where  the  Prince  Bi.shop  sat  with  his  party  around, 

When  Gengulphus's  poll,  which  continued  to  roll 
At  her  heels,  on  the  table  bounced  up  with  a  bound. 

Never  touching  the  cates,  or  the  dishes  or  plates. 
The  decanters  or  glasses,  the  sweetmeats  or  fruits, 

The  head  smiles,  and  begs  them  to  bring  him  his  legs, 
As  a  well-spoken  gentleman  asks  for  his  boots. 

Kicking  open  the  casement,  to  each  one's  amazement, 
Straight  a  right  leg  steps  in,  all  impediment  scorns, 

And  near  the  head  stopping,  a  left  follows  hopping 
Behind, — for  the  left  leg  was  troubled  with  corns. 

Next,  before  the  beholders,  two  great  brawny  shoulders, 
And  arms  on  their  bent  elbows,  dance  through  the  throng. 

While  two  hands  assist,  though  nipped  off  at  the  wrist, 
The  said  shoulders  in  bearing  a  body  along. 

They  march  up  to  the  head,  not  one  syllable  said. 
For  the  thirty  guests  all  stare  in  wonder  and  doubt, 

As  the  limbs  in  their  sight  arrange  and  unite. 

Till  Gengulphus,  though  dead,  looks  as  sound  as  a  trout. 

I  will  venture  to  say,  from  that  hour  to  this  day, 
Ne'er  did  such  an  assembly  behold  such  a  scene ; 

Or  a  table  divide  fifteen  guests  of  a  side 

With  a  dead  body  placed  in  the  centre  between. 

Yes,  they  stared — well  they  might  at  so  novel  a  sight : 
No  one  uttered  a  whisper,  a  sneeze,  or  a  hem, 

But  sat  all  bolt  upright,  and  pale  with  affright ; 

And  they  gazed  at  the  dead  man,  the  dead  man  at  them. 


184  A  LAY  OF  ST.   GENGULPHUS. 

The  Prince  Bishop's  Jester,  on  punning  intent, 
As  he  viewed  the  whole  thirty,  in  jocular  terms 

Said,  "  They  put  him  in  mind  of  a  Council  of  Trente 
Engaged  in  reviewing  the  Diet  of  Worms." 

But  what  should  they  do  ? — Oh !  nobody  knew 

What  was  best  to  be  done,  either  stranger  or  resident ; 

The  Chancellor's  self  read  his  Puffendorf  through 
In  vain,  for  his  books  could  not  furnish  a  precedent. 

The  Prince  Bishop  muttered  a  curse,  and  a  prayer. 

Which  his  double  capacity  hit  to  a  nicety ; 
His  Princely,  or  Lay,  half  induced  him  to  swear, 

His  Episcopal  moiety  said  "  Benedieite  /" 

The  Coroner  sat  on  the  body  that  night, 

And  the  jury  agreed, — not  a  doubt  could  they  harbor, — 
"  That  the  chin  of  the  corpse — the  sole  thing  brought  to  light — 

Had  been  recently  shaved  by  a  very  bad  barber." 

They  sent  out  Von  Taiinsend,  Von  Biirnie,  Von  Eoe, 

Von  Maine,  and  Von  Eowautz — through  chalets  and  chateaux. 

Towns,  villages,  hamlets,  they  told  them  to  go. 

And  they  stuck  up  placards  on  the  walls  of  the  Stadthaus. 

"MURDER!! 

"  Wheeeas,  a  dead  gentleman,  surname  unknown. 
Has  been  recently  found  at  his  Highness's  banquet. 

Rather  shabbily  drest  in  an  Amice,  or  gown, 

In  appearance  resembling  a  second-hand  blanket ; 

"And  Whereas,  there's  great  reason  indeed  to  suspect 
That  some  ill-disposed  person,  or  persons,  with  malice 

Aforethought,  have  killed,  and  begun  to  dissect 
The  said  Gentleman,  not  very  far  from  the  palace ; 

"  This  is  to  give  Notice  ! — Whoever  shall  seize, 
And  such  person,  or  persons,  to  justice  surrender, 

Shall  receive — such  Reward — as  his  Highness  shall  please, 
On  conviction  of  him,  the  aforesaid  offender. 


A  LAY  OF  ST.   GENGULPHUS.  185 

"And,  in  order  the  matter  more  clearly  to  trace 

To  the  bottom,  his  Highness,  the  Prince  Bishop,  further, 

Of  his  clemency,  offers  free  Pardon  and  Grace 

To  all  such  as  have  not  been  concerned  in  the  murther. 

"  Done  this  day,  at  our  palace, — July  twenty-five, — 
By  command, 

(Signed) 

Johann  Von  Russell. 
KB. 
Deceased  rather  in  years — had  a  squint  when  alive ; 
And  smells  slightly  of  gin — linen  mark'd  with  a  G." 

The  Newspapers,  too,  made  no  little  ado. 

Though  a  different  version  each  managed  to  dish  up ; 

Some  said,  "  The  Prince  Bishop  had  run  a  man  through," 
Others  said,  "  An  assassin  had  killed  the  Prince  Bishop." 

The  "Ghent  Herald"  fell  foul  of  the  "  Bruxelles  Gazette," 
The  "  Bruxelles  Gazette,"  with  much  sneering  ironical. 

Scorned  to  remain  in  the  "Ghent  Herald's"  debt. 

And   the   "Amsterdam    Times"   quizzed   the   "Nuremberg 
Chronicle." 

In  one  thing,  indeed,  all  the  journals  agreed, 

Spite  of  "  politics,"  "  bias,"  or  "  party  collision  ;" 

Viz. :  to  "give,"  when  they'd  "further  accounts"  of  the  deed, 
"  Full  particulars"  soon,  in  "  a  later  Edition." 

But  now,  while  on  all  sides  they  rode  and  they  ran, 
Trying  all  sorts  of  means  to  discover  the  caitiffs. 

Losing  patience,  the  holy  Gengulphus  began 
To  think  it  high  time  to  "  astonish  the  natives." 


'to-' 


First,  a  Rittmeister's  Frau,  who  was  weak  in  both  eyes. 
And  supposed  the  most  short-sighted  woman  in  Holland, 

Found  greater  relief,  to  her  joy  and  surprise. 

From  one  glimpse  of  his  "  squint "  than  from  glasses  by  Dollond. 

By  the  slightest  approach  to  the  tip  of  his  nose. 

Megrims,  headache,  and  vapors  were  put  to  the  rout  j 


186  A  LAY  OF  ST.   GENGULPUUS. 

And  one  single  touch  of  his  precious  great  toes 
Was  a  certain  specific  for  chilblains  and  gout. 

Rheumatics,— sciatica,— tic-doloureux! 

Apply  to  his  shin-bones— not  one  of  them  lingers ; — 
All  bilious  complaints  in  an  instant  withdrew 

If  the  patient  was  tickled  with  one  of  his  fingers. 

Much  virtue  was  found  to  reside  in  his  thumbs ; 

When  applied  to  the  chest  they  cured  scantness  of  breathing, 
Sea-sickness,  and  colic ;  or,  rubbed  on  the  gums, 

Were  "  A  blessing  to  Mothers,"  for  infants  in  teething. 

Whoever  saluted  the  nape  of  his  neck. 

Where  the  mark  remained  visible  still  of  the  knife, 

Notwithstanding  east  winds  perspiration  might  check, 
Was  safe  from  sore  throat  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

Thus,  while  each  acute  and  each  chronic  complaint 
Giving  way,  proved  an  influence  clearly  divine. 

They  perceived  the  dead  gentleman  must  be  a  Saint, 
So  they  locked  him  up,  body  and  bones,  in  a  shrine. 

Through  country  and  town  his  new  Saintship's  renown 
As  a  first-rate  physician  kept  daily  increasing. 

Till,  as  Alderman  Curtis  told  Alderman  Brown, 
It  seemed  as  if  "  wonders  had  never  done  ceasing." 

The  Three  Kings  of  Cologne  began,  it  w^as  known, 

A  sad  falling  off  in  their  off'rings  to  find, 
His  feats  were  so  many— still  the  greatest  of  any, 

In  every  sense  of  the  word,  was — behind ; 

For  the  German  Police  were  beginning  to  cease 

From  exertions  which  each  day  more  fruitless  appeared, 

When  Gengulphus  himself,  his  fame  still  to  increase. 
Unravelled  the  whole  by  the  help  of— his  beard ! 

If  you  look  back  you'll  see  the  aforesaid  harhe  gris, 

When  divorced  from  the  chin  of  its  murdered  proprietor. 

Had  been  stuffed  in  the  seat  of  a  kind  of  settee, 
Or  double-armed  chair,  to  keep  the  thing  quieter. 


A   LAY  OF  ST.   GENGULPHUS.  187 

It  may  seem  rather  strange  that  it  did  not  arrange 
Itself  in  its  place  when  the  limbs  joined  together ; 

P'rhaps  it  could  not  get  out,  for  the  cushion  was  stout, 
And  constructed  of  good,  strong,  maroon-colored  leather. 

Or,  what  is  more  likely,  Gengulphus  might  choose, — 
For  Saints,  e'en  when  dead,  still  retain  their  volition, — 

It  should  rest  there,  to  aid  some  particular  views 
Produced  by  his  very  peculiar  position. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  on  the  very  first  day 

That  the  widow  Gengulphus  sat  down  on  that  settee, 

"What  occurred  almost  frightened  her  senses  away. 
Beside  scaring  her  handmaidens,  Gertrude  and  Betty. 

They  were  telling  their  mistress  the  wonderful  deeds 

Of  the  new  Saint,  to  whom  all  the  Town  said  their  orisons : 

And  especially  how,  as  regards  invalids. 

His  miraculous  cures  far  outrivalled  Von  Morison's. 

"  The  cripples,"  said  they,  "  fling  their  crutches  away, 
And  people  born  blind  now  can  easily  see  us !" — 

But  she  (we  presume  a  disciple  of  Hume) 

Shook  her  head,  and  said  angrily,  "Oredat  Judoms! 

"  Those  rascally  liars,  the  Monks  and  the  Friars, 

To  bring  grist  to  their  mill  these  devices  have  hit  on. — 

He  works  miracles !  pooh ! — I'd  believe  it  of  you 

Just  as  soon,  you  great  Geese, — or  the  Chair  that  I  sit  on !" 

The  Chair ! — At  that  word, — it  seems  really  absurd, 

But  the  truth  must  be  told, — what  contortions  and  grins 

Distorted  her  face ! — she  sprang  up  from  her  place 
Just  as  though  she'd  been  sitting  on  needles  and  pins ! 

For,  as  if  the  Saint's  beard  the  rash  challenge  had  heard 
Which  she  uttered,  of  what  was  beneath  her  forgetful, 

Each  particular  hair  stood  on  end  in  the  chair, 

Like  a  porcupine's  quills  when  the  animal's  fretful. 


188  A  LAY  OF  ST.   GENGULPHUS. 

That  stout  maroon  leather  they  pierced  altogether, 

Like  tenter-hooks  holding  when  clenched  from  within ; 

And  the  maids  cried,  "  Good  gracious !  how  very  tenacious  !'* 
— They  as  well  might  endeavor  to  pull  off  her  skin ! 

She  shrieked  with  the  pain,  but  all  efforts  were  vain ; 

In  vain  did  they  strain  every  sinew  and  muscle, — 
The  cushion  stuck  fast ! — From  that  hour  to  her  last, 

She  could  never  get  rid  of  that  comfortless  "Bustle"! 

And  e'en  as  Macbeth,  when  devising  the  death 

Of  his  King,  heard  "  the  very  stones  prate  of  his  whereabouts," 
So  this  shocking  bad  wife  heard  a  voice  all  her  life 

Crying  "  Murder !"  resound  from  the  cushion — or  thereabouts. 

"With  regard  to  the  Clerk,  we  are  left  in  the  dark 
As  to  what  his  fate  was ;  but  I  cannot  imagine  he 

Got  off  scot-free,  though  unnoticed  it  be 

Both  by  Kibadaneira  and  Jacques  de  Voragine ; 

For  cut-throats,  we're  sure,  can  be  never  secure. 

And  "  History's  Muse  "  still  to  prove  it  her  pen  holds, 

As  you'll  see  if  you  look  in  a  rather  scarce  book, 

"  Qod's  Revenge  against  Murder"  by  one  Mr.  Reynolds. 

MOEAL. 

Now,  you  grave  married  Pilgrims,  who  wander  away. 
Like  Ulysses  of  old*  {vide  Homer  and  Naso), 

Don't  lengthen  your  stay  to  three  years  and  a  day, 

And  when  you  are  coming  home,  just  write  and  say  so! 

And  you,  learned  Clerks,  who're  not  given  to  roam, 
Stick  close  to  your  books,  nor  lose  sight  of  decorum ; 

Don't  visit  a  house  when  the  master's  from  home ! 
Shun  drinking, — and  study  the  "  Vitce,  Sanctorum." 

Above  all,  you  gay  ladies,  who  fancy  neglect 
In  your  spouses,  allow  not  your  patience  to  fail ; 

But  remember  Gengulphus's  wife !  and  reflect 
On  the  moral  enforced  by  my  terrible  tale ! 

*  Qui  mores  Hominum  multorum  vidit  et  urbes. 


THE  LAY  OF  ST.   ODILLE.  189 

Mr.  Barney  Maguire  has  laid  claim  to  the  next  Saint  as  a 
countrywoman ;  and  "  Why  ^YOuldn't  he,"  when  all  the  world 
knows  the  O'Dclls  were  a  fine  ould  ancient  family,  sated  in 

Tipperary 

"  Ere  the  Lord  Mayor  stole  his  collar  of  gowld, 
And  sowld  it  away  to  a  trader"  ?* 

He  is  manifestly  wrong ;  but,  as  he  very  rationally  observes, 
"No  matter  for  that,— she's  a  Saint  any  way!" 

^f)e  Has  of  St.  O^tiille. 

ODILLE  was  a  maid  of  a  dignified  race : 
Her  father,  Count  Otto,  was  lord  of  Alsace ; 
Such  an  air,  such  a  grace.     Such  a  form,  such  a  face, 
All  agreed,  'twere  a  fruitless  endeavor  to  trace 
In  the  Court,  or  within  fifty  miles  of  the  place. 
Many  ladies  in  Strasburg  were  beautiful,  still 
They  were  beat  all  to  sticks  by  the  lovely  Odille. 

But  Odille  was  devout,  and,  before  she  was  nine, 
Had  "  experienced  a  call "  she  considered  divine, 
To  put  on  the  veil  at  St.  Ermengarde's  shrine. — 
Lords,  Dukes,  and  Electors,  and  Counts  Palatine, 
Came  to  seek  her  in  marriage  from  both  sides  the  Rhine ; 

But  vain  their  design.    They  are  all  left  to  pine, 
Their  oglings  and  smiles  are  all  useless ;  in  fine, 
Not  one  of  these  gentlefolks,  try  as  they  will, 
.Can  draw  "Ask  my  papa"  from  the  cruel  Odille. 

At  length  one  of  her  suitors,  a  certain  Count  Herman, 
A  highly  respectable  man  as  a  German, 
Who  smoked  like  a  chimney,  and  drank  like  a  Merman, 
Paid  his  court  to  her  father,  conceiving  his  firman 

*  The  "  Inglorious  Memory  "  of  this  ould  ancient  transaction  is  still,  we  understand, 
kept  up  in  Dublin  by  an  annual  proclamation  at  one  of  tho  city  gates.  The  jewel 
which  has  replaced  the  abstracted  ornament  is  said  to  have  been  presented  by  King 
William,  and  worn  by  Daniel  O'Connell,  Esq. 


190  THE  LAY  OF  ST.   ODILLE. 

"Would  soon  make  her  bend,     And  induce  her  to  lend 
An  ear  to  a  love-tale  in  lieu  of  a  sermon. 
He  gained  the  old  Count,  who  said,  "  Come,  Mynheer,  fill ! — 
Here's  luck  to  yourself  and  my  daughter  Odille !" 

The  Lady  Odille  was  quite  nervous  with  fear 
When  a  little  bird  whispered  that  toast  in  her  ear ; 
She  murmured,  "  Oh  dear !  my  Papa  has  got  queer, 
I  am  sadly  afraid,  with  that  nasty  strong  beer ! 
He's  so  very  austere,  and  severe,  that  it's  clear. 
If  he  gets  in  his  *  tantrums,'  I  can't  remain  here ; 
But  St.  Ermengarde's  convent  is  luckily  near : 
It  were  folly  to  stay    Pour  prendre  conge, 
I  shall  put  on  my  bonnet  and  e'en  run  away !" 
— She  unlocked  the  back  door  and  descended  the  hill, 
On  whose  crest  stood  the  towers  of  the  sire  of  Odille. 

— When  he  found  she'd  levanted,  the  Count  of  Alsace 
At  first  turned  remarkably  red  in  the  face ; 
He  anathematized,  with  much  unction  and  grace. 
Every  soul  who  came  near,  and  consigned  the  whole  race 
Of  runaway  girls  to  a  very  warm  place ; 

With  a  frightful  grimace    He  gave  orders  for  chase ; 
His  vassals  set  off  at  a  deuce  of  a  pace. 
And  of  all  whom  they  met,  high  or  low.  Jack  or  Jill, 
Asked,  "  Pray  have  you  seen  anything  of  Lady  Odille  ?" 

Now  I  think  I've  been  told, — for  I'm  no  sporting  man, — 
That  the  "  knowing  ones"  call  this  by  far  the  best  plan, 
"  Take  the  lead  and  then  keep  it !" — that  is,  if  you  can. — 
Odille  thought  so  too,  so  she  set  oflf  and  ran, 

Put  her  best  leg  before.     Starting  at  score. 
As  I  said  some  lines  since,  from  that  little  back  door, 
And,  not  being  missed  until  half  after  four, 
Had  what  hunters  call  "  law"  for  a  good  hour  and  more ; 

Doing  her  best,     Without  stopping  to  rest, 
Like  "  Young  Lochinvar  who  came  out  of  the  West." 
"  'Tis  done ! — I  am  gone ! — over  briar,  brook,  and  rill, 
They'll  be  sharp  lads  who  catch  me !"  said  young  Miss  Odille. 


THE  LAY  OF  ST.  ODILLE.  191 

But  you've  all  read  in  J^sop,  or  Phgedrus,  or  Gay, 
How  a  tortoise  and  hare  ran  together  one  day ; 

How  the  hare,  making  play,  "  Progressed  right  slick  away," 
As  "  them  tarnation  chaps  "  the  Americans  say ; 
While  the  tortoise,  whose  figure  is  rather  outre 
For  racing,  crawled  straight  on,  without  let  or  stay, 
Having  no  post-horse  duty  or  turnpikes  to  pay. 

Till,  ere  noon's  ruddy  ray     Changed  to  eve's  sober  gray. 
Though  her  form  and  obesity  caused  some  delay, 
Perseverance  and  patience  brought  up  her  lee-way, 
And  she  chased  her  fleet-footed  "  pray  cursor  "  until 
She  o'ertook  her  at  last ; — so  it  fared  with  Odille ! 

For  although,  as  I  said,  she  ran  gayly  at  first, 

And  showed  no  inclination  to  pause,  if  she  durst, 

She  at  length  felt  opprest  with  the  heat,  and  with  thirst 

Its  usual  attendant ;  nor  was  that  the  worst,— 

Her  shoes  went  down  at  heel ;  at  last  one  of  them  burst. 

Now  a  gentleman  smiles     At  a  trot  of  ten  miles ; 
But  not  so  the  Fair ;  then  consider  the  stiles, 
And  as  then  ladies  seldom  wore  things  with  a  frill 
Round  the  ankle,  these  stiles  sadly  bothered  Odille. 

Still,  despite  all  the  obstacles  placed  in  her  track. 

She  kept  steadily  on,  though  the  terrible  crack 

In  her  shoe  made  of  course  her  progression  more  slack. 

Till  she  reached  the  Swartz  Forest  (in  English  the  Black) : 

I  cannot  divine     How  the  boundary  line 
Was  passed  which  is  somewhere  there  formed  by  the  Rhine — 

Perhaps  she'd  the  knack    To  float  o'er  on  her  back — 
Or,  perhaps,  cross'd  the  old  bridge  of  boats  at  Brisach 
(Which  Vauban,  some  years  after,  secured  from  attack 
By  a  bastion  of  stone  which  the  Germans  call  "  Wacke  ") ; 
All  I  know  is,  she  took  not  so  much  as  a  snack. 
Till,  hungry  and  worn,  feeling  wretchedly  ill. 
On  a  mountain's  brow  sank  down  the  weary  Odille. 

I  said  on  its  "  brow,"  but  I  should  have  said  "  crown," 
For  'twas  quite  on  the  summit,  bleak,  barren,  and  brown. 


192  THE  LAY  OF  ST.   ODILLE. 

And  so  high  that  'twas  frightful  indeed  to  look  down 
Upon  Friburg,  a  place  of  some  little  renown, 
That  lay  at  its  foot ;  but  imagine  the  frown 
That  contracted  her  brow,  when  full  many  a  clown 
She  perceived  coming  up  from  that  horrid  post-town. 

They  had  followed  her  trail, 

And  now  thought  without  fail. 
As  little  boys  say,  to  "  lay  salt  on  her  tail ;" 
While  the  Count,  who  knew  no  other  law  but  his  will, 
Swore  that  Herman  that  evening  should  marry  Odille. 

Alas,  for  Odille !  poor  dear !  what  could  she  do  ? 
Her  father's  retainers  now  had  her  in  view, 
As  she  found  from  their  raising  a  joyous  halloo ; 
While  the  Count,  riding  on  at  the  head  of  his  crew, 
In  their  snuff-colored  doublets  and  breeches  of  blue. 
Was  huzzaing  and  urging  them  on  to  pursue — 

What,  indeed,  could  she  do  ?    She  very  well  knew 
If  they  caught  her  how  much  she  should  have  to  go  through ; 
But  then— she'd  so  shocking  a  hole  in  her  shoe ! 
And  to  go  further  on  was  impossible ; — true 
She  might  jump  o'er  the  precipice ; — still  there  are  few, 
In  her  place,  who  could  manage  their  courage  to  screw 
Up  to  bidding  the  world  such  a  sudden  adieu : — 
Alack !  how  she  envied  the  birds  as  they  flew ; 
No  Nassau  balloon,  with  its  wicker  canoe. 
Came  to  bear  her  from  him  she  loathed  worse  than  a  Jew  ; 
So  she  fell  on  her  knees  in  a  terrible  stew, 

Crying,  "  Holy  St.  Ermengarde ! 

Oh,  from  these  vermin  guard 
Her  whose  last  hope  rests  entirely  on  you ; — 
Don't  let  papa  catch  me,  dear  Saint !— rather  kill 
At  once,  sur-le-champ,  your  devoted  Odille !" 

It's  delightful  to  see  those  who  strive  to  oppress 

Get  balked  when  they  think  themselves  sure  of  success. 

The  Saint  came  to  the  rescue !— I  fairly  confess 

I  don't  see,  as  a  Saint,  how  she  well  could  do  less 


THE  LAY   OF  ST.   ODILLE.  193 

Thau  to  get  such  a  votary  out  of  her  mess. 

Odillc  had  scarce  closed  her  pathetic  address 

When  the  rock,  gaping  wide  as  the  Thames  at  Sheerness, 

Closed  again,  and  secured  her  within  its  recess 

In  a  natural  grotto.     Which  puzzled  Count  Otto, 
Who  could  not  conceive  where  the  deuce  she  had  got  to. 
'Twas  her  voice ! — but  'twas  Vox  et  prceterea  Nil  I 
Nor  could  any  one  guess  what  was  gone  with  Odille ! 

Then  burst  from  the  mountain  a  splendor  that  quite 

Eclipsed,  in  its  brilliance,  the  finest  Bude  light, 

And  there  stood  St.  Ermengarde,  drest  all  in  white, 

A  palm-branch  in  her  left  hand,  her  beads  in  her  right ; 

While,  with  faces  fresh  gilt,  and  with  wings  burnished  bright, 

A  great  many  little  boys'  heads  took  their  flight 

Above  and  around  to  a  very  great  height. 

And  seemed  pretty  lively  considering  their  plight. 

Since  every  one  saw,     With  amazement  and  awe. 
They  could  never  sit  down,  for  they  hadn't  de  quoi. — 

All  at  the  sight,     From  the  knave  to  the  knight, 
Felt  a  very  unpleasant  sensation,  called  fright ; 

While  the  Saint,  looking  down     With  a  terrible  frown, 
Said,  "  My  Lords,  you  are  done  most  remarkably  brown ! — 
I  am  really  ashamed  of  you  both ; — my  nerves  thrill 
At  your  scandalous  conduct  to  poor  dear  Odille ! 

"  Come,  make  yourselves  scarce ! — it  is  useless  to  stay, 
You  will  gain  nothing  here  by  a  longer  delay. 
*  Quick !  Presto !  Begone !'  as  the  conjurers  say ; 
For  as  to  the  lady,  I've  stowed  her  away 
In  this  hill,  in  a  stratum  of  London  blue  clay ; 
And  I  shan't,  I  assure  you,  restore  her  to-day 
Till  you  faithfully  promise  no  more  to  say  '  Nay,' 
But  declare, '  if  she  will  be  a  nun,  why  she  may.' 
For  this  you've  my  Avord,  and  I  never  yet  broke  it ! — 
So  put  that  in  your  pipe,  my  Lord  Otto,  and  smoke  it ! — 
One  hint  to  your  vassals, — a  month  at '  the  Mill ' 
Shall  be  nuts  to  what  they'll  get  who  worry  Odille  1" 
13 


194  THE  LAY  OF  ST.    ODILLE. 

The  Saint  disappeared  as  slie  ended,  and  so 

Did  the  little  boys'  heads,  which,  above  and  below, 

As  I  told  you  a  very  few  stanzas  ago. 

Had  been  flying  about  her,  and  jumping  Jim  Crow ; 

Though,  without  any  body,  or  leg,  foot,  or  toe. 

How  they  managed  such  antics,  I  really  don't  know ; 

Be  that  as  it  may,  they  all  "  melted  like  snow 

Off  a  dyke,"  as  the  Scotch  say  in  sweet  Ediubro', 

And  there  stood  the  Count,     AVith  his  men,  on  the  mount, 
Just  like  "  twenty-four  jackasses  all  on  a  row." 
What  was  best  to  be  done — 'twas  a  sad  bitter  pill — 
But  gulp  it  he  must,  or  else  lose  his  Odille. 

The  lord  of  Alsace  therefore  altered  hie  plan, 

And  said  to  himself,  like  a  sensible  man, 

"  I  can't  do  as  I  would, — I  must  do  as  I  can ; 

It  will  not  do  to  lie  under  any  Saint's  ban. 

For  your  hide,  when  you  do,  they  all  manage  to  tan ; 

So  Count  Herman  must  pick  up  some  Betsy  or  Nan, 

Instead  of  my  girl, — some  Sue,  Polly,  or  Fan ; — 

If  he  can't  get  the  corn  he  must  do  with  the  bran. 

And  make  shift  with  the  pot  if  he  can't  have  the  pan." 

With  such  proverbs  as  these     He  went  down  on  his  knees, 
And  said,  "  Blessed  St.  Ermengarde,  just  as  you  please — 
They  shall  build  a  new  convent, — I'll  pay  the  whole  bill 
(Taking  discount), — its  Abbess  shall  be  my  Odille." 

There  are  some  of  my  readers,  I'll  venture  to  say, 

Who  have  never  seen  Friburg,  though  some  of  them  may, 

And  others,  'tis  likely,  may  go  there  some  day. 

Now,  if  ever  you  happen  to  travel  that  way, 

I  do  beg  and  pray, — 'twill  your  pains  well  repay, — 

That  you'll  take  what  the  Cockney  folks  call  a  "  po-shay" 

(Though  in  Germany  these  things  are  more  like  a  dray). 

You  may  reach  this  same  hill  with  a  single  relay, — 

And  do  look  how  the  rock,    Through  the  whole  of  its  block. 
Is  split  open,  as  though  by  some  violent  shock 
From  an  earthquake,  or  lightning,  or  horrid  hard  knock 


THE  LAY  OF  ST.    ODILLE.  195 

From  the  club-bearing  fist  of  some  jolly  old  cock 
Of  a  Germanized  giant,  Thor,  Woden,  or  Lok ; 

And  see  how  it  rears     Its  two  monstrous  great  ears, 
For  when  once  you're  between  them  such  each  side  appears ; 
And  list  to  the  sound  of  the  water  one  hears 
Drip,  drip>  from  the  fissures,  like  raindrops  or  tears, — 
Odille's,  I  believe, — which  have  flowed  all  these  years ; 
— I  think  they  account  for  them  so  ; — but  the  rill 
I  am  sure  is  connected  some  way  with  Odille. 

MORAL. 

Now  then  for  a  moral,  which  always  arrives 
At  the  end,  like  the  honey-bees  take  to  their  hives, 
And  the  more  one  observes  it  the  better  one  thrives, — 
We  have  all  heard  it  said  in  the  course  of  our  lives, 
"  Needs  must  when  a  certain  old  gentleman  drives  ;" 
'Tis  the  same  with  a  lady, — if  once  she  contrives 
To  get  hold  of  the  ribbons,  how  vainly  one  strives 
To  escape  from  her  lash  or  to  shake  off  her  gyves ! 
Then  let's  act  like  Count  Otto,  and  while  one  survives, 
Succumb  to  our  She-Saints — videlicet  wives ! 

{Aside^ 
That  is,  if  one  has  not  "a  good  bunch  of  fives." — 
(I  can't  think  how  that  last  line  escaped  from  my  quill. 
For  I'm  sure  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  Odille.) 

Now,  young  ladies,  to  you : —    Don't  put  on  the  shrew ! — 
And  don't  be  surprised  if  your  father  looks  blue 
When  you're  pert,  and  won't  act  as  he  wants  you  to  do ! 
Be  sure  that  you  never  elope ; — there  are  few, — 
Believe  me,  you'll  find  what  I  say  to  be  true, — 
Who  run  restive,  but  find  as  they  bake  they  must  brew, 
And  come  ofi"  at  last  with  "  a  hole  in  their  shoe ;" 
Since  not  even  Clapham,  that  sanctified  ville, 
Can  produce  enough  saints  to  save  every  Odille. 


196  A  LAY  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS. 

Nstolcta,  t2t£?2it  of  gj  tslt*  of  ^mtxsts,  teas  ioxnt  of  t^tlt  an&  ^olj^  ksnne, 
fLnli  i)ije  falJtr  toas  namtli  3£pip!)anufi,  anlJ  ^i5  mobtr  SoljaitJ. 

He  was  born  on  a  cold  frosty  morning,  on  the  6th  of  Decem- 
ber (upon  which  day  his  feast  is  still  observed),  but  in  what 
anno  Domini  is  not  so  clear;  his  baptismal  register,  together 
with  that  of  his  friend  and  colleague,  St.  Thomas  at  Hill,  hav- 
ing been  "  lost  in  the  great  fire  of  London." 

St.  Nicholas  was  a  great  patron  of  Mariners,  and, — saving 
your  presence, — of  Thieves  also,  which  honorable  fraternity 
have  long  rejoiced  in  the  appellation  of  his  "Clerks."  Cer- 
vantes's  story  of  Sancho's  detecting  a  sum  of  money  in  a  swin- 
dler's walking-stick  is  merely  a  Spanish  version  of  a  "  Lay  of 
St.  Nicholas"  extant  "in  choice  Italian"  a  century  before 
honest  Miguel  was  born. 

a  Eag  of  St.  Kid)olas. 

"Statim  Bacerdoti  apparuit  diabolus  in  specie  puellse  pulchritudinis  mirae,  et  ecce 
Divus,  fide  catholica,  et  cruce,  et  aqua  benedicta  armatus  venit,  et  aspersit  aquam  in 
nomine  Sanctfe  et  Individuse  Trinitatis,  quam,  quasi  ardentem,  diabolus,  nequaquam 
sustinere  valens,  mugitibus  fugit."— Roger  Hoveden. 

"X  ORD  Abbot!  Lord  Abbot!  I'd  fain  confess ; 

J-J    I  am  a-weary,  and  worn  with  woe ; 
Many  a  grief  doth  my  heart  oppress, 
And  haunt  me  whithersoever  I  go !" 

On  bended  knee  spake  the  beautiful  Maid : 
"  Now  lithe  and  listen,  Lord  Abbot,  to  me !" — 

"  Now  naye.  Fair  Daughter,"  the  Lord  Abbot  said, 
"  Now  naye,  in  sooth  it  may  hardly  be. 

"  There  is  Mess  Michael,  and  holy  Mess  John, 

Sage  Penitauncers  I  ween  be  they ! 
And  hard  by  doth  dwell,  in  St.  Catherine's  cell, 

Ambrose,  the  Anchoret  old  and  gray !" 

*  Parish, 


A   LAY  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS.  197 

— "  Oh,  I  will  have  none  of  Ambrose  or  John, 

Though  sage  Penitauncers  I  trow  they  be ; 
Shrive  me  may  none  save  the  Abbot  alone, 

Now  listen,  Lord  Abbot,  I  speak  to  thee. 

"  Nor  think  foul  scorn,  though  mitre  adorn 

Thy  brow,  to  listen  to  shrift  of  mine ! 
I  am  a  Maiden  royally  born. 

And  I  come  of  old  Plantagenet's  line. 

"  Though  hither  I  stray  in  lowly  array, 

I  am  a  damsel  of  high  degree ; 
And  the  Compte  of  Eu,  and  the  Lord  of  Ponthieu, 

They  serve  my  father  on  bended  knee ! 

"  Counts  a  many,  and  Dukes  a  few, 

A  suitoring  came  to  my  father's  Hall ; 
But  the  Duke  of  Lorraine,  with  his  large  domain, 

He  pleased  my  father  beyond  them  all. 

"  Dukes  a  many,  and  Counts  a  few, 

I  would  have  wedded  right  cheerfullie ; 
But  the  Duke  of  Lorraine  was  uncommonly  plain. 

And  I  vow'd  that  he  ne'er  should  my  bridegroom  be ! 

"  So  hither  I  fly,  in  lowly  guise, 

From  their  gilded  domes  and  their  princely  halls ; 
Fain  would  I  dwell  in  some  holy  cell. 

Or  within  some  Convent's  peaceful  walls !" 

— Then  out  and  spake  that  proud  Lord  Abbot, 
"  Now  rest  thee.  Fair  Daughter,  withouten  fear, 

Nor  Count  nor  Duke  but  shall  meet  the  rebuke 
Of  Holy  Church  an  he  seek  thee  here : 

"  Holy  Church  denieth  all  search 

'Midst  her  sanctified  ewes  and  her  saintly  rams. 
And  the  wolves  doth  mock  who  would  scathe  her  flock, 

Or,  especially,  worry  her  little  pet  lambs. 


198  A   LAY  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS. 

"  Then  lay,  Fair  Daughter,  thy  fears  aside. 
For  here  this  day  shalt  thou  dine  with  me !" — 

"  Now  naye,  now  naye,"  the  fair  maiden  cried ; 
"  In  sooth,  Lord  Abbot,  that  scarce  may  be ! 

"  Friends  would  whisper,  and  foes  would  frown, 
Sith  thou  art  a  Churchman  of  high  degree. 

And  ill  mote  it  match  with  thy  fair  renown 
That  a  wandering  damsel  dine  with  thee ! 

"  There  is  Simon  the  Deacon  hath  pulse  in  store. 

With  beans  and  lettuces  fair  to  see ; 
His  lenten  fare  now  let  me  share, 

I  pray  thee,  Lord  Abbot,  in  charitie !" 

— "  Though  Simon  the  Deacon  hath  pulse  in  store, 
To  our  patron  Saint  foul  shame  it  were 

Should  wayworn  guest,  with  toil  oppressed, 
Meet  in  his  Abbey  such  churlish  fare. 

"  There  is  Peter  the  Prior,  and  Francis  the  Friar, 
And  Roger  the  Monk  shall  our  convives  be ; 

Small  scandal  I  ween  shall  then  be  seen ; 
They  are  a  goodly  companie !" 

The  Abbot  hath  donned  his  mitre  and  ring, 
His  rich  dalmatic,  and  maniple  fine ; 

And  the  choristers  sing,  as  the  lay-brothers  bring 
To  the  board  a  magnificent  turkey  and  chine. 

The  turkey  and  chine,  they  are  done  to  a  nicety ; 

Liver,  and  gizzard,  and  all  are  there ; 
Ne'er  mote  Lord  Abbot  pronounce  Benedicite 

Over  more  luscious  or  delicate  fare. 

But  no  pious  stave,  no  Pater  or  Ave, 

Pronounced,  as  he  gazed  on  that  maiden's  face ; 

She  asked  him  for  stuffing,  she  asked  him  for  gravy, 
She  asked  him  for  gizzard  ;— but  not  for  Grace! 


A   LAY  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS.  199 

Yet  gayly  the  Lord  Abbot  smiled,  and  pressed, 
Aud  the  blood-red  wine  in  the  wine-cup  filled ; 

And  he  helped  his  guest  to  a  bit  of  the  breast, 
And  he  sent  the  drumsticks  down  to  be  grilled. 

There  was  no  lack  of  old  Sherris  sack, 

Of  Hippocras  fine,  or  of  Malmsey  bright ; 
And  aye,  as  he  drained  ofT  his  cup  with  a  smack, 

He  grew  less  pious  and  more  polite. 

She  pledged  him  once,  and  she  pledged  him  twice, 
And  she  drank  as  Lady  ought  not  to  drink ; 

And  he  pressed  her  hand  'neatli  the  table  thrice, 
And  he  winked  as  Abbot  ought  not  to  wink. 

And  Peter  the  Prior,  and  Francis  the  Friar, 

Sat  each  with  a  napkin  under  his  chin ; 
But  Roger  the  Monk  got  excessively  drunk. 

So  they  put  him  to  bed,  and  they  tucked  him  in ! 

The  lay-brothers  gazed  on  each  other,  amazed ; 

And  Simon  the  Deacon,  with  grief  and  surprise, 
As  he  peeped  through  the  keyhole,  could  scarce  fancy  real 

The  scene  he  beheld,  or  believe  his  own  eyes. 

In  his  ear  was  ringing  the  Lord  Abbot  singing, — 
He  could  not  distinguish  the  words  very  plain. 

But  'twas  all  about  "  Cole,"  and  "jolly  old  Soul," 

And  "  Fiddlers,"  and  "  Punch,"  and  things  quite  as  profane. 

Even  Porter  Paul,  at  the  sound  of  such  revelling. 

With  fervor  himself  began  to  bless  ; 
For  he  thought  he  must  somehow  have  let  the  Devil  in, — 

And  perhaps  was  not  very  much  out  in  his  guess. 

The  Accusing  Byers*  "  flew  up  to  Heaven's  Chancery," 
Blushing  like  scarlet  with  shame  and  concern ; 

The  Archangel  took  down  his  tale,  and  in  answer  he 
Wept — (See  the  works  of  the  late  Mr,  Sterne). 

*  The  Prince  of  Peripatotic  Informers,  and  terror  of  Stage  Coachmen,  when  such 
things  were.    Alack !  alack  !  tlio  Railroads  have  ruiucd  his  "  vested  interest." 


200  A   LAY  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS. 

Indeed,  it  is  said,  a  less  taking  botli  were  in 

When,  after  a  lapse  of  a  great  many  years, 
They  booked  Uncle  Toby  five  shillings  for  swearing. 


&» 


And  blotted  the  fine  out  again  with  their  tears  I 


&^ 


But  St.  Nicholas'  agony  who  may  paint  ? 

His  senses  at  first  were  well-nigh  gone ; 
The  beatified  saint  was  ready  to  faint 

When  he  saw  in  his  Abbey  such  sad  goings  on ! 

For  never,  I  ween,  had  such  doings  been  seen 

There  before,  from  the  time  that  most  excellent  Prince, 

Earl  Baldwin  of  Flanders,  and  other  Commanders, 
Had  built  and  endowed  it  some  centuries  since. 

— But  hark ! — 'tis  a  sound  from  the  outermost  gate ! 

A  startling  sound  from  a  powerful  blow. — 
Who  knocks  so  late  ? — it  is  half  after  eight 

By  the  clock, — and  the  clock's  five  minutes  too  slow. 

Never,  perhaps,  had  such  loud  double  raps 
Been  heard  in  St.  Nicholas'  Abbey  before ; 

All  agreed  "  it  was  shocking  to  keep  people  knocking," 
But  none  seemed  inclined  to  "  answer  the  door." 

Now  a  louder  bang  through  the  cloisters  rang, 
And  the  gate  on  its  hinges  wide  open  flew ; 

And  all  were  aware  of  a  Palmer  there. 

With  his  cockle  hat,  staff",  and  his  sandal  shoe. 

Many  a  furrow  and  many  a  frown 

By  toil  and  time  on  his  brow  were  traced ; 

And  his  long  loose  gown  was  of  ginger  brown, 
And  his  rosary  dangled  below  his  waist. 

Now  seldom,  I  ween,  is  such  costume  seen. 

Except  at  a  stage-play  or  masquerade ; 
But  who  doth  not  know  it  was  rather  the  go 

With  Pilgrims  and  Saints  in  the  second  Crusade  ? 


A   LAY  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS.  201 

With  noiseless  stride  did  that  Palmer  glide 

Across  that  oaken  floor ; 
And  he  made  them  all  jump,  he  gave  such  a  thump 

Against  the  Refectory  door ! 

Wide  open  it  flew,  and  plain  to  the  view 

The  Lord  Abbot  they  all  mote  see  ; 
In  his  hand  was  a  cup,  and  he  lifted  it  up, 

"  Here's  the  Pope's  good  health  with  three ! !" 

Rang  in  their  ears  three  deafening  cheers, 

"  Huzza !  huzza !  huzza  !" 
And  one  of  the  party  said,  "  Go  it,  my  hearty !" — 

When  out  spake  that  Pilgrim  gray — 

"A  boon,  Lord  Abbot !  a  boon !  a  boon ! 

Worn  is  my  foot,  and  empty  my  scrip ; 
And  nothing  to  speak  of  since  yesterday  noon 

Of  food,  Lord  Abbot,  hath  passed  my  lip. 

"And  I  am  come  from  a  far  countree, 

And  have  visited  many  a  holy  shrine ; 
And  long  have  I  trod  the  sacred  sod 

Where  the  Saints  do  rest  in  Palestine !" — 

"  An  thou  art  come  from  a  far  countree, 

And  if  thou  in  Paynim  lands  hast  been, 
Now  rede  me  aright  the  most  wonderful  sight. 

Thou  Palmer  gray,  that  thine  eyes  have  seen. 

"  Arede  me  aright  the  most  wonderful  sight, 

Gray  Palmer,  that  ever  thine  eyes  did  see. 
And  a  manchette  of  bread,  and  a  good  warm  bed, 

And  a  cup  o'  the  best,  shall  thy  guerdon  be !" 

"  Oh !  I  have  been  east,  and  I  have  been  west, 

And  I  have  seen  many  a  wonderful  sight ; 
But  never  to  me  did  it  happen  to  see 

A  wonder  like  that  which  I  see  this  night ! 


202  A   LAY  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS. 

"  To  see  a  Lord  Abbot,  in  rocliet  and  stole, 

With  Prior  and  Friar, — a  strange  mar-velle ! — 

O'er  a  jolly  full  bowl  sitting  cheek  by  jowl, 

And  hob-nobbing  away  with  a  Devil  from  Hell !" 

He  felt  in  his  gown  of  ginger  brown, 
And  he  pulled  out  a  flask  from  beneath ; 

It  was  rather  tough  work  to  get  out  the  cork, 
But  he  drew  it  at  last  with  his  teeth. 

O'er  a  pint  and  a  quarter  of  holy  water. 

He  made  a  sacred  sign  ; 
And  he  dashed  the  whole  on  the  soi-disant  daughter 

Of  old  Plautagenet's  line ! 

Oh !  then  did  she  reek,  and  squeak,  and  shriek. 

With  a  wild  unearthly  scream ; 
And  fizzled,  and  hissed,  and  produced  such  a  mist, 

They  were  all  half  choked  by  the  steam. 

Her  dove-like  eyes  turned  to  coals  of  fire, 

Her  beautiful  nose  to  a  horrible  snout. 
Her  hands  to  paws,  with  nasty  great  claw^s, 

And  her  bosom  went  in,  and  her  tail  came  out. 

On  her  chin  there  appeared  a  long  Nanny-goat's  beard, 
And  her  tusks  and  her  teeth  no  man  mote  tell ; 

And  her  horns  and  her  hoofs  gave  infallible  proofs 
'Twas  a  frightful  fiend  from  the  nethermost  hell ! 

The  Palmer  threw  down  his  ginger  gown, 
His  hat  and  his  cockle,  and,  plaiu  to  sight. 

Stood  St,  Nicholas'  self,  and  his  shaven  crown 
Had  a  glow-worm  halo  of  heavenly  light. 

The  fiend  made  a  grasp  the  Abbot  to  clasp ; 

But  St.  Nicholas  lifted  his  holy  toe. 
And,  just  in  the  nick,  let  fly  such  a  kick 

On  his  elderly  Namesake,  he  made  him  let  go. 


A   LAY  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS.  203 

And  out  of  the  window  he  flow  like  a  shot, 
For  the  foot  flew  up  with  a  terrible  thwack, 

And  caught  the  foul  demon  about  the  spot 

Where  hie  tail  joins  on  to  the  small  of  his  back. 

And  he  bounded  away  like  a  foot-ball  at  play, 

Till  into  the  bottomless  pit  he  fell  slap, 
Knocking  Mammon  the  meagre  o'er  pursy  Belphegor, 

And  Lucifer  into  Beelzebub's  lap. 

Oh  !  happy  the  slip  from  his  Succubine  grip 

That  saved  the  Lord  Abbot — though,  breathless  with  fright. 
In  escaping  he  tumbled,  and  fractured  his  hip, 

And  his  left  leg  was  shorter  thenceforth  than  his  right ! 


On  the  banks  of  the  Rhine,  as  he's  stopping  to  dine, 
From  a  certain  Inn-window  the  traveller  is  shown 

Most  picturesque  ruins,  the  scene  of  these  doings. 
Some  miles  up  the  river,  southeast  of  Cologne. 

And,  while  "  sour-hrauV  she  sells  you,  the  landlady  tells  you 
That  there,  in  those  walls,  now  all  roofless  and  bare, 

One  Simon,  a  Deacon,  from  a  lean  grew  a  sleek  one, 
On  filling  a  ci-devant  Abbot's  state  chair. 

How  a  ci-devant  Abbot,  all  clothed  in  drab,  but 
Of  texture  the  coarsest,  hair  shirt,  and  no  shoes 

(His  mitre  and  ring,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
Laid  aside),  in  yon  Cave  lived  a  pious  recluse ; 

How  he  rose  with  the  sun,  limping  "  dot  and  go  one" 
To  yon  rill  of  the  mountain,  in  all  sorts  of  weather, 

Where  a  Prior  and  a  Friar,  who  lived  somewhat  higher 
Up  the  rock,  used  to  come  and  eat  cresses  together ; 

How  a  thirsty  old  codger,  the  neighbors  called  Roger, 
With  them  drank  cold  water  in  lieu  of  old  wine ! 


204  A  LAV  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS. 

What  its  quality  wanted  he  made  up  iu  quantity, 
Swigging  as  though  he  would  empty  the  Rhine ! 

And  how,  as  their  bodily  strength  failed,  the  mental  man 

Gained  tenfold  vigor  and  force  in  all  four ; 
And  how,  to  the  day  of  their  death,  the  "  Old  Gentleman" 

Never  attempted  to  kidnap  them  more. 

And  how,  when  at  length,  in  the  odor  of  sanctity, 
All  of  them  died  without  grief  or  complaint. 

The  Monks  of  St.  Nicholas  said  'twas  ridiculous 
Not  to  suppose  every  one  was  a  Saint. 

And  how,  in  the  Abbey,  no  one  was  so  shabby 

As  not  to  say  yearly  four  masses  a  head, 
On  the  eve  of  that  supper,  and  kick  on  the  crupper 

Which  Satan  received,  for  the  souls  of  the  dead ! 

How  folks  long  held  in  reverence  their  reliques  and  memories, 
How  the  d-devant  Abbot's  obtained  greater  still. 

When  some  cripples,  on  touching  his  fractured  os  femoris, 
Threw  down  their  crutches  and  danced  a  quadrille ! 

And  how  Abbot  Simon  (who  turned  out  a  prime  one) 

These  words,  which  grew  into  a  proverb  full  soon, 
O'er  the  late  Abbot's  grotto  stuck  up  as  a  motto, 

'*  2i2a|)o  suppcs  iuitl)  tl)t  Bt^iiU  sijoliJ?  i)abc  a  Inng 
spoonel" 


RoHESiA,  daughter  of  Ambrose,  and  sister  to  Sir  Everard 
Ingoldsby,  was  born  about  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, and  was  married  in  1526,  at  St.  Giles's,  Cripplegate,  in 
the  city  of  London.  The  following  narrative  contains  all  else 
that  is  known  of 


TUE  LADY  ROUESIA.  205 


5ri)e  Hatrg  Hoijesia. 

THE  Lady  Rohesia  lay  on  her  death-bed ! 
So  said  the  doctor,  and  doctors  are  generally  allowed 
to  be  judges  in  these  matters ;  besides,  Doctor  Butts  was  the 
Court  Physician  :  he  carried  a  crutch-handled  staff,  with  its 
cross  of  the  blackest  ebony — raison  de  plus. 

"  Is  there  no  hope,  Doctor  ?"  said  Beatrice  Grey. 

"  Is  there  no  hope  ?"  said  Everard  Ingoldsby. 

"  Is  there  no  hope  ?"  said  Sir  Guy  de  Montgomeri.  He  was 
the  Lady  Rohesia's  husband  ; — he  spoke  the  last. 

The  Doctor  shook  his  head.  He  looked  at  the  disconsolate 
widower  in  posse,  then  at  the  hour-glass;  its  waning  sand 
seemed  sadly  to  shadow  forth  the  sinking  pulse  of  his  patient. 
Dr.  Butts  was  a  very  learned  man.  "Ars  longa,  vita  brevis!" 
said  Dr.  Butts. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  it,"  quoth  Sir  Guy  de  Montgomeri. 
Sir  Guy  was  a  brave  knight,  and  a  tall ;  but  he  was  no  scholar. 

"  Alas !  my  poor  sister !"  sighed  Ingoldsby. 

"  Alas !  my  poor  mistress !"  sobbed  Beatrice. 

Sir  Guy  neither  sighed  nor  sobbed ;  his  grief  was  too  deep- 
seated  for  outward  manifestation. 

"And  how  long.  Doctor "     The  afflicted  husband  could 

not  finish  the  sentence. 

Dr.  Butts  withdrew  his  hand  from  the  wrist  of  the  dying 
lady.  He  pointed  to  the  horologe;  scarcely  a  quarter  of  its 
sand  remained  in  the  upper  moiety.  Again  he  shook  his  head. 
The  eye  of  the  patient  waxed  dimmer,  the  rattling  in  the  throat 
increased. 

"  What's  become  of  Father  Francis  ?"  whimpered  Beatrice. 

"  The  last  consolations  of  the  church "  suggested  Everard. 

A  darker  shade  came  over  the  brow  of  Sir  Guy. 

"  Where  is  the  Confessor  ?"  continued  his  grieving  brother- 
in-law. 

"  In  the  pantry,"  cried  Marion  Hacket  pertly,  as  she  tripped 
down  stairs  in  search  of  that  venerable  ecclesiastic ; — "  in  the 
pantry,  I  warrant  me."     The  bower-woman  was  not  wont  to  be 


206  THE  LADY  ROUES  I  A. 

in  the  wrong :  in  the  pantry  was  the  holy  man  discovered — at 
his  devotions. 

"Pax  vobiseuvi!"  said  Father  Francis,  as  he  entered  the 
chamber  of  death. 

"Vita  brevis/"  retorted  Dr.  Butts.  He  was  not  a  man  to  be 
browbeat  out  of  his  Latin, — and  by  a  paltry  Friar  Minim,  too. 
Had  it  been  a  bishop,  indeed,  or  even  a  mitred  abbot ; — but  a 
miserable  Franciscan ! 

"  Benedicite  !"  said  the  Friar. 

"  Ars  longa!"  returned  the  Leech. 

Dr.  Butts  adjusted  the  tassels  of  his  falling  band,  drew  his 
short  sad-colored  cloak  closer  around  him,  and,  grasping  his 
cross-handled  walking-staff,  stalked  majestically  out  of  the 
apartment.     Father  Francis  had  the  field  to  himself. 

The  worthy  chaplain  hastened  to  administer  the  last  rites  of 
the  church.  To  all  appearance  he  had  little  time  to  lose.  As 
he  concluded,  the  dismal  toll  of  the  passing-bell  sounded  from 
the  belfry  tower ;  little  Hubert,  the  bandy-legged  sacristan,  was 
pulling  with  all  his  might.  It  was  a  capital  contrivance,  that 
same  passing-bell ;  which  of  the  Urbans  or  Innocents  invented 
it  is  a  query;  but,  whoever  he  was,  he  deserved  well  of  his 
country  and  of  Christendom. 

Ah !  our  ancestors  were  not  such  fools,  after  all,  as  we,  their 
degenerate  children,  conceit  them  to  have  been.  The  passing- 
bell — a  most  solemn  warning  to  imps  of  every  description — is 
not  to  be  regarded  with  impunity ;  the  most  impudent  Succuhus 
of  them  all  dare  as  well  dip  his  claws  in  holy  water  as  come 
within  the  verge  of  its  sound.  Old  Nick  himself,  if  he  sets 
any  value  at  all  upon  his  tail,  had  best  convey  himself  clean 
out  of  hearing,  and  leave  the  way  open  to  Paradise.  Little 
Hubert  continued  pulling  with  all  his  might — and  St.  Peter 
began  to  look  out  for  a  customer. 

The  knell  seemed  to  have  some  effect  even  upon  the  Lady 
Eohesia :  she  raised  her  head  slightly ;  inarticulate  sounds 
issued  from  her  lips, — inarticulate,  that  is,  to  the  profane  ears 
of  the  laity.  Those  of  Father  Francis,  indeed,  were  sharper ; 
nothing,  as  he  averred,  could  be  more  distinct  than  the  words, 
"  A  thousand  marks  to  the  priory  of  St.  Maiy  Eouncival." 

Now  the  Lady  Eohesia  Ingoldsby  had  brought  her  husband 


THE  LADY  ROIIESIA.  207 

broad  lands  and  large  possessions ;  much  of  her  ample  dowry, 
too,  was  at  her  own  disposal, — and  nuncupative  wills  had  not 
yet  been  abolished  by  act  of  Parliament. 

"Pious  soul!"  ejaculated  Father  Francis.  "A  thousand 
marks,  she  said " 

"  If  she  did  I'll  be  shot !"  said  Sir  Guy  de  Montgomeri, 

" — A  thousand  marks!"  continued  the  Confessor,  fixing  his 
cold  gray  eye  upon  the  knight,  as  he  went  on  heedless  of  the 
interruption  ; — "  a  thousand  marks  I  and  as  many  Aves  and 
Paters  shall  be  duly  said — as  soon  as  the  money  is  paid  down." 

Sir  Guy  shrank  from  the  monk's  gaze ;  he  turned  to  the 
window,  and  muttered  to  himself  something  that  sounded  like 
"  Don't  you  wish  you  may  get  it  ?" 


The  bell  continued  to  toll.  Father  Francis  had  quitted  the 
room,  taking  with  him  the  remains  of  the  holy  oil  he  had  been 
using  for  Extreme  Unction.  Everard  Ingoldsby  waited  on 
him  down  stairs. 

"  A  thousand  thanks !"  said  the  latter. 

"A  thousand  marks!"  said  the  friar. 

"  A  thousand  devils !"  growled  Sir  Guy  de  Montgomeri  from 
the  top  of  the  landing-place. 

But  his  accents  fell  unheeded:  his  brother-in-law  and  the 
friar  were  gone ;  he  was  left  alone  with  his  departing  lady  and 
Beatrice  Grey. 

Sir  Guy  de  Montgomeri  stood  pensively  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed ;  his  arms  were  crossed  upon  his  bosom,  his  chin  was  sunk 
upon  his  breast ;  his  eyes  were  filled  with  tears ;  the  dim  rays 
of  the  fading  watchlight  gave  a  darker  shade  to  the  furrows  on 
his  brow,  and  a  brighter  tint  to  the  little  bald  patch  on  the  top 
of  his  head, — for  Sir  Guy  was  a  middle-aged  gcntlem.au,  tall 
and  portly  withal,  with  a  slight  bend  in  his  shoulders,  but  that 
not  much;  his  complexion  was  somewhat  florid,  especially  about 
the  nose ;  but  his  lady  was  in  exiremin,  and  at  this  particular 
moment  he  was  paler  than  usual. 

"  Bim !  home !"  went  the  bell.  The  knight  groaned  audibly, 
Beatrice   Grey  wiped   her  eye  with   her   little   square   apron 


208  THE  LADY  ROEESIA. 

of  lace  de  Malines ;  there  was  a  moment's  pause — a  mo- 
ment of  intense  affliction ;  she  let  it  fall, — all  but  one  corner, 
which  remained  between  her  finger  and  thumb.  She  looked  at 
Sir  Guy;  drew  the  thumb  and  forefinger  of  her  other  hand 
slowly  along  its  border,  till  they  reached  the  opposite  extremity. 
She  sobbed  aloud.  "  So  kind  a  lady !"  said  Beatrice  Grey. — 
"  So  excellent  a  wife !"  responded  Sir  Guy. — "  So  good !"  said 
the  damsel. — "  So  dear !"  said  the  knight. — "  So  pious !"  said 
slie.— "So  humble!"  said  he.— "So  good  to  the  poor!"— "So 
capital  a  manager !" — "  So  punctual  at  matins !" — "  Dinner 
dished  to  moment !" — "  So  devout !"  said  Beatrice. — "  So  fond 
of  me !"  said  Sir  Guy.—"  And  of  Father  Francis !"— "  What 
the  devil  do  you  mean  by  that?"  said  Sir  Guy  de  Mont- 
gomeri. 

The  knight  and  the  maiden  had  rung  their  antiphonic  changes 
on  the  fine  qualities  of  the  departing  lady,  like  the  Strophe  and 
Antistrophe  of  a  Greek  play.  The  cardinal  virtues  once  dis- 
posed of,  her  minor  excellences  came  under  review.  She  would 
drown  a  witch,  drink  lambs'  wool  at  Christmas,  beg  Dominie 
Dumps's  boys  a  holiday,  and  dine  upon  sprats  on  Good  Friday  I 
A  low  moan  from  the  subject  of  these  eulogies  seemed  to  inti- 
mate that  the  enumeration  of  her  good  deeds  was  not  alto- 
gether lost  on  her, — that  the  parting  spirit  felt  and  rejoiced  in, 
the  testimony. 

"  She  was  too  good  for  earth  !"  continued  Sir  Guy. 

"  Ye-ye-yes !"  sobbed  Beatrice. 

"  I  did  not  deserve  her !"  said  the  knight. 

"  No-o-o-o !"  cried  the  damsel. 

"  Not  but  that  I  made  her  an  excellent  husband,  and  a  kind ; 
but  she  is  going,  and — and — where,  or  when,  or  how — shall  I 
get  such  another  ?" 

"Not  in  broad  England — not  in  the  whole  wide  world!" 
responded  Beatrice  Grey ;  "  that  is,  not  just  such  another !" 
Her  voice  still  faltered,  but  her  accents  on  the  whole  were  more 
articulate ;  she  dropped  the  corner  of  her  apron,  and  had  re- 
course to  her  handkerchief;  in  fact,  her  eyes  were  getting  red, 
— and  so  was  the  tip  of  her  nose. 

Sir  Guy  was  silent ;  he  gazed  for  a  few  moments  steadfastly 
on  the  face  of  his  lady.     The  single  word,  "  Another!"  fell  from 


THE  LADY  ROUESIA.  209 

his  lips  like  a  distant  echo ; — it  is  not  often  that  the  viewless 
nynii)h  repeats  more  than  is  necessary. 

"  Bim !  borne !"  went  the  bell.  Bandy-legged  Hubert  had 
been  tolling  for  half  an  hour ;  he  began  to  grow  tired,  and  St. 
Peter  fidgety. 

"  Beatrice  Grey !"  said  Sir  Guy  de  Montgomeri,  "  what's  to 
be  done  ?  What's  to  become  of  Montgomeri  Hall  ? — and  the 
buttery, — and  the  servants  ?  And  what — what's  to  become  of 
me,  Beatrice  Grey  ?"— -There  was  pathos  in  his  tones,  and  a  sol- 
emn pause  succeeded.     "I'll  turn  monk  myself!"  said  Sir  Guy. 

"  Monk  ?"  said  Beatrice. 

"  I'll  be  a  Carthusian !"  repeated  the  knight,  but  in  a  tone 

less  assured :  he  relapsed  into  a'  reverie. — Shave  his  head ! — he 

did  not  so  much  mind  that, — he  was  getting  rather  bald  already  ; 

—but,  beans  for  dinner, — and  those  without  butter — and  then 

a  horse-hair  shirt ! 

The  knight  seemed  undecided :  his  eye  roamed  gloomily 
around  the  apartment ;  it  paused  upon  different  objects,  but 
as  if  it  saw  them  not ;  its  sense  was  shut,  and  there  was  no 
speculation  in  its  glance :  it  rested  at  last  upon  the  fair  face  of 
the  sympathizing  damsel  at  his  side,  beautiful  in  her  grief. 

Her  tears  had  ceased ;  but  her  eyes  were  cast  down,  mourn- 
fully fixed  upon  her  delicate  little  foot,  which  was  beating  the 
devil's  tattoo. 

There  is  no  talking  to  a  female  when  she  does  not  look  at 
you.  Sir  Guy  turned  round, — he  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of 
the  bed ;  and,  placing  his  hand  beneath  the  chin  of  the  lady, 
turned  up  her  face  in  an  angle  of  fifteen  degrees. 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  take  the  vows,  Beatrice ;  but  what's  to 
become  of  me  ?  Poor,  miserable,  old — that  is,  poor,  miserable, 
middle-aged  man  that  I  am  ! — No  one  to  comfort,  no  one  to 
care  for  me !" — Beatrice's  tears  flowed  afresh,  but  she  opened 
not  her  lips. — "  'Pon  my  life !"  continued  he,  "  I  don't  believe 
there  is  a  creature  now  would  care  a  button  if  I  were  hanged 
to-morrow !" 

"  Oh  !  don't  say  so,  Sir  Guy !"  sighed  Beatrice ;  "  you  know 
there's — there's  Master  Everard,  and — and  Father  Francis — — " 

"  Pish !"  cried  Sir  Guy  testily. 

"  And — there's  your  favorite  old  bitch." 
14 


210  2^77^  LADY  ROHESTA. 

"  I  am  not  tliinking  of  old  bitches !"  quoth  Sir  Guy  de  Mont- 
gomeri. 

Another  pause  ensued ;  the  knight  had  released  her  chin, 
and  taken  her  hand ;  it  was  a  pretty  little  hand,  with  long 
taper  fingers  and  filbert-formed  nails,  and  the  softness  of  the 
palm  said  little  for  its  owner's  industry. 

"  Sit  down,  my  dear  Beatrice,"  said  the  knight  thoughtfully ; 
"  you  must  be  fatigued  with  your  long  watching.  Take  a  seat, 
my  child." — Sir  Guy  did  not  relinquish  her  hand ;  but  he 
sidled  along  the  counterpane,  and  made  room  for  his  compan- 
ion between  himself  and  the  bed-post. 

Now  this  is  a  very  awkward  position  for  two  people  to  be 
placed  in,  especially  when  the  right  hand  of  the  one  holds  the 
right  hand  of  the  other : — in  such  an  attitude,  what  the  deuce 
can  the  gentleman  do  with  his  left?  Sir  Guy  closed  his  till 
it  became  an  absolute  fist,  and  his  knuckles  rested  on  the  bed 
a  little  in  the  rear  of  his  companion. 

"  Another !"  repeated  Sir  Guy,  musing ;  "  if,  indeed,  I  could 
find  such  another!"  He  was  talking  to  his  thought,  but 
Beatrice  Grey  answered  him. 

"  There's  Madam  Fitzfoozle." 

"  A  frump !"  said  Sir  Guy. 

"  Or  the  Lady  Bumbarton." 

"  With  her  hump !"  muttered  he. 

"  There's  the  Dowager " 

"  Stop — stop !"  said  the  knight,  "  stop  one  moment !" — He 
paused  ;  he  was  all  on  the  tremble  ;  something  seemed  rising  in 
his  throat,  but  he  gave  a  great  gulp  and  swallowed  it.  "  Bea- 
trice," said  he,  "what  think  you  of" — his  voice  sank  into  a 
most  seductive  softness, — "what  think  you  of — Beatrice  Grey?" 

The  murder  was  out :  the  knight  felt  infinitely  relieved :  the 
knuckles  of  his  left  hand  unclosed  spontaneously ;  and  the  arm 
he  had  felt  such  a  difiiculty  in  disposing  of  found  itself, — 
nobody  knows  how, — all  at  once,  encircling  the  jimp  waist  of 
the  pretty  Beatrice.  The  young  lady's  reply  was  expressed  in 
three  syllables.  They  were,  "  Oh,  Sir  Guy  !"  The  words  might 
be  somewhat  indefinite,  but  there  was  no  mistaking  the  look. 
Their  eyes  met ;  Sir  Guy's  left  arm  contracted  itself  spasmod- 
ically ;  when  the  eyes  meet, — at  least,  as  theirs  met, — the  lips 


THE  LADY  ROIIESIA.  211 

arc  very  apt  to  follow  the  example.  The  knight  had  taken  one 
long  loving  kiss — nectar  and  ambrosia !  He  thought  on  Doc- 
tor Butts  and  his  repetatur  haustus, — a  prescription  Father 
Francis  had  taken  infinite  pains  to  translate  for  him :  he  Avas 
about  to  repeat  it,  but  the  dose  was  interrupted  in  transitu. 
Doubtless  the  adage, 

"  There's  many  a  slip 
'Twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip," 

hath  reference  to  medicine.  Sir  Guy's  lip  was  again  all  but  in 
conjunction  with  that  of  his  bride  elect. 

It  has  been  hinted  already  that  there  was  a  little  round  pol- 
ished patch  on  the  summit  of  the  knight's  pericranium,  from 
which  his  locks  had  gradually  receded ;  a  sort  of  oasis, — or 
rather  a  Mont  Blanc  in  miniature,  rising  above  the  highest  point 
of  vegetation.  It  was  on  this  little  spot,  undefended  alike  by 
Art  and  Nature,  that  at  this  interesting  moment  a  blow  de- 
scended, such  as  we  must  borrow  a  term  from  the  Sister  Island 
adequately  to  describe, — it  was  a  "  Whack !" 

Sir  Guy  started  upon  his  feet ;  Beatrice  Grey  started  upon 
hers :  but  a  single  glance  to  the  rear  reversed  her  position, — she 
fell  upon  her  knees  and  screamed. 

The  knight,  too,  wheeled  about,  and  beheld  a  sight  which 
misrht  have  turned  a  bolder  man  to  stone. — It  was  She ! — the 
all-but-defunct  Rohesia — there  she  sat,  bolt  upright ! — her  eyes 
no  longer  glazed  with  the  film  of  impending  dissolution,  but 
scintillating  like  flint  and  steel ;  while  in  her  hand  she  grasped 
the  bed-staff, — a  weapon  of  mickle  might,  as  her  husband's 
bloody  coxcomb  could  now  well  testify.  Words  were  yet  want- 
ing, for  the  quinsy,  which  her  rage  had  broken,  still  impeded 
her  utterance ;  but  the  strength  and  rapidity  of  her  guttural 
intonations  augured  well  for  her  future  eloquence. 

Sir  Guy  de  IMontgomeri  stood  for  a  while  like  a  man  dis- 
traught ;  this  resurrection — for  such  it  seemed — had  quite  over- 
powered him.  "  A  husband  ofltimes  makes  the  best  physician," 
says  the  proverb ;  he  was  a  living  personification  of  its  truth. 
Still  it  was  whispered  he  had  been  content  with  Dr.  Butts ;  but 
his  lady  was  restored  to  bless  him  for  many  years. — Heavens, 
what  a  life  he  led ! 

The  Lady  Rohesia  mended  apace ;  her  quinsy  was  cured ;  the 


212  THE  LADY  ROHESIA. 

bell  was  stopped,  and  little  Hubert,  the  sacristan,  kicked  out 
of  tlie  chapelry,  St.  Peter  opened  his  wicket  and  looked  out ; 
— there  was  nobody  there ;  so  he  flung  to  the  gate  in  a  passion, 
and  went  back  to  his  lodge,  grumbling  at  being  hoaxed  by  a 
runaway  ring. 

Years  rolled  on.  The  improvement  of  Lady  Rohesia's  tem- 
per did  not  keep  pace  with  that  of  her  health ;  and  one  fine 
morning  Sir  Guy  de  Montgomeri  was  seen  to  enter  the  porte- 
cochere  of  Durham  House,  at  that  time  the  town  residence  of 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh.  Nothing  more  was  ever  heard  of  him; 
but  a  boat  full  of  adventurers  was  known  to  have  dropped  down 
with  the  tide  that  evening  to  Deptford  Hope,  where  lay  the 
good  ship  the  Darling,  commanded  by  Captain  Keymis,  who 
sailed  next  morning  on  the  Virginia  voyage. 

A  brass  plate,  some  eighteen  inches  long,  may  yet  be  seen  in 
Denton  chancel,  let  into  a  broad  slab  of  Bethersden  marble ;  it 
represents  a  lady  kneeling,  in  her  wimple  and  hood ;  her  hands 
are  clasped  in  prayer,  and  beneath  is  an  inscription  in  the  char- 
acters of  the  age — 

"  ^raU  for  s£  soiole  of  2«  3LaJJ2  ^aosst, 
EnlJ  for  allt  <l^\ii&im  sotoUsl" 

The  date  is  illegible ;  but  it  appears  that  she  survived  King 
Henry  the  Eighth,  and  that  the  dissolution  of  monasteries  had 
lost  St.  Mary  Rouncival  her  thousand  marks.  As  for  Beatrice 
Gray,  it  is  well  known  that  she  was  alive  in  1559,  and  then  had 
virginity  enough  left  to  be  a  maid  of  honor  to  "  good  Queen 
Bess." 


It  was  during  the  "  Honey  (or,  as  it  is  sometimes  termed,  the 
'  Treacle ')  Moon  "  that  Mr,  and  Mrs.  Seaforth  passed  through 
London.  A  "  good-natured  friend,"  who  dropped  in  to  dinner, 
forced  them  in  the  evening  to  the  theatre  for  the  purpose  of 
getting  rid  of  him.  I  give  Charles's  account  of  the  Tragedy, 
just  as  it  was  written,  without  altering  even  the  last  couplet — 
for  there  would  be  no  making  "Egerton"  rhyme  with  "  Story." 


THE  TRAGEDY.  213 

"  Quasquo  ipse  mlserrima  vidi." — Virgil. 

CATHERINE  of  Cleves  was  a  Lady  of  rank : 
She  had  lands  and  fine  houses,  and  cash  in  the  Bank ; 

She  had  jewels  and  rings,     And  a  thousand  smart  things ; 

Was  lovely  and  young,     With  a  rather  sharp  tongue, 
And  she  wedded  a  noble  of  high  degree 
With  the  star  of  the  order  of  St.  Esprit; 

But  the  Duke  de  Guise     Was,  by  many  degrees, 
Her  senior,  and  not  very  easy  to  please ; 
He'd  a  sneer  on  his  lip,  and  a  scowl  with  his  eye, 
And  a  frown  on  his  brow, — and  he  looked  like  a  Guy, — 

So  she  took  to  intriguing     With  Monsieur  St.  Megrin, 
A  young  man  of  fashion,  and  figure,  and  worth. 
But  with  no  great  pretensions  to  fortune  or  birth ; 

He  would  sing,  fence,  and  dance.     With  the  best  man  in 
France, 
And  took  his  rappee  with  genteel  nonchalance ; 
He  smiled,  and  he  flattered,  and  flirted  with  ease, 
And  was  very  superior  to  Monseigneur  de  Guise. 
Now  Monsieur  St.  Megrin  was  curious  to  know 
If  the  Lady  approved  of  his  passion  or  no ; 

So,  without  more  ado.     He  put  on  his  surtoui, 
And  went  to  a  man  with  a  beard  like  a  Jew, 

One  Signer  Ruggieri,     A  Cunning-man  near,  he 
Could  conjure,  tell  fortunes,  and  calculate  tides. 
Perform  tricks  on  the  cards,  and  Heaven  knows  what  besides. 
Bring  back  a  strayed  cow,  silver  ladle,  or  spoon, 
And  was  thought  to  be  thick  with  the  ]Man  in  the  Moon. 

The  Sage  took  his  stand     With  his  wand  in  his  hand, 
Drew  a  circle,  then  gave  the  dread  word  of  command. 
Saying  solemnly — "Presto! — Hey,  quick! — Cock-a-lorum I !" 
When  the  Duchess  immediately  popped  up  before  'em. 
Just  then  a  Conjunction  of  Venus  and  ]\Iars, 
Or  something  peculiar  above  in  the  stars, 
Attracted  the  notice  of  Signer  Ruggieri, 
Who  "'  bolted,"  and  left  him  alone  with  his  deary. — 


214  THE  TRAGEDY. 

Monsieur  St.  Megrin  went  down  on  his  knees, 

And  the  Duchess  shed  tears  large  as  marrow-fat  peas, 

When,— fancy  the  shock,—     A  loud  double  knock 
Made  the  Lady  cry  "  Get  up,  you  fool !— there's  De  Guise !" 

'Twas  his   Grace,  sure   enough;     So   Monsieur,  looking 
bluff. 
Strutted  by,  with  his  hat  on,  and  fingering  his  ruff, 
"While,  unseen  by  either,  away  flew  the  Dame 
Through  the  opposite  keyhole,  the  same  way  she  came ; 

But,  alack !  and  alas !     A  mishap  came  to  pass. 
In  her  hurry  she,  somehow  or  other,  let  fall 
A  new  silk  Bandana  she'd  worn  as  a  shawl ; 

She  had  used  it  for  drying     Her  bright  eyes  while  crying, 
And  blowing  her  nose,  as  her  Beau  talked  of  dying ! 

Now  the  Duke,  who  had  seen  it  so  lately  adorn  her. 
And  knew  the  great  C  with  the  Crown  in  the  corner. 
The  instant  he  spied  it,  smoked  something  amiss, 
And  said,  with  some  energy,  "  D it !  what's  this  ?" 

He  went  home  in  a  fume,     And  bounced  into  her  room, 
Crying,  "  So,  Ma'am,  I  find  I've  some  cause  to  be  jealous ! 
Look  here ! — here's  a  proof  you  run  after  the  fellows ! 
— Now  take  up  that  pen, — if  it's  bad  choose  a  better, — 
And  write,  as  I  dictate,  this  moment  a  letter 

To  Monsieur — you  know  who !"     The  Lady  looked  blue, 
But  replied  with  much  firmness,  "  Hang  me  if  I  do !" 

De  Guise  grasped  her  wrist    With  his  great  bony  fist, 
And  pinched  it,  and  gave  it  so  painful  a  twist. 
That  his  hard  iron  gauntlet  the  flesh  went  an  inch  in, — 
She  did  not  mind  death,  but  she  could  not  stand  pinching ; 

So  she  sat  down  and  wrote     This  polite  little  note : — 

"  Dear  Mister  St.  Megrin,     The  Chiefs  of  the  League  in 
Our  house  mean  to  dine     This  evening  at  nine ; 
I  shall,  soon  after  ten.     Slip  away  from  the  men. 

And  you'll  find  me  up  stairs  in  the  drawing-room  then ; 

Come  up  the  back  way,  or  those  impudent  thieves 

Of  Servants  will  see  you.     Yours, 

"Catherine  of  Cleves." 


THE  TRAGEDY.  215 

She  directed  and  sealed  it,  all  pale  as  a  ghost, 
And  De  Guise  put  it  into  the  Twopenny  Post. 

St.  Megrin  had  almost  jumped  out  of  his  skin 
For  joy  that  day  when  the  post  came  in ; 

He  read  the  note  through,     Then  began  it  anew, 
And  thought  it  almost  too  good  news  to  be  true. — 

He  clapped  on  his  hat,     And  a  hood  over  that. 
With  a  cloak  to  disguise  him,  and  make  him  look  fat ; 
So  great  his  impatience  from  half  after  Four 
He  was  waiting  till  Ten  at  De  Guise's  back  door. 
When  he  heard  the  great  clock  of  St.  Genevieve  chime 
He  ran  up  the  back  staircase  six  steps  at  a  time. 

He  had  scarce  made  his  bow,     He  hardly  knew  how, 

When  alas !  and  alack !     There  was  no  getting  back. 
For  the  drawing-room  door  was  banged  to  with  a  whack ; — 

In  vain  he  applied     To  the  handle  and  tried, 
Somebody  or  other  had  locked  it  outside ! 
And  the  Duchess  in  agony  mourned  her  mishap, 
"  We  are  caught  like  a  couple  of  rats  in  a  trap." 

Now  the  Duchess's  Page,     About  twelve  years  of  age. 
For  so  little  a  boy  was  remarkably  sage ; 
And  just  in  the  nick,  to  their  joy  and  amazement, 
Popped  the  Gas-lighter's  ladder  close  under  the  casement. 

But  all  would  not  do,—     Though  St.  Megrin  got  through 
The  window, — below  stood  De  Guise  and  his  crew, 
And  though  never  man  was  more  bravo  than  St.  Megrin, 
Yet  fighting  a  score  is  extremely  fatiguing  ; 

He  thrust  carte  and  tierce     Uncommonly  fierce, 
But  not  Beelzebub's  self  could  their  cuirasses  pierce ; 

While  his  doublet  and  hose,     Being  holiday  clothes, 
Were  soon  cut  through  and  through  from  his  knees  to  his  nose ; 
Still  an  old  crooked  sixpence  the  Conjurer  gave  him 
From  pistol  and  sword  was  sufficient  to  save  him ; 

But  when  beat  on  his  knees.     That  confounded  De  Guise 
Came  behind  with  the  "  fogle  "  that  caused  all  this  breeze. 
Whipped  it  tight  round  his  neck,  and  when  backward  he'd 

jerked  him. 
The  rest  of  the  rascals  jumped  on  him  and  Burked  him. 


216  THE  TRAGEDY. 

The  poor  little  Page,  too,  himself  got  no  quarter,  but 

Was  served  the  same  way,     And  was  found  the  next  day 

With  his  heels  in  the  air,  and  his  head  in  the  water-butt. 

Catherine  of  Cleves     Roared  "  Murder !"  and  "  Thieves !" 
From  the  window  above     While  they  murdered  her  love; 

Till,  finding  the  rogues  had  accomplished  his  slaughter, 

She  drank  Prussic  acid  ^Yithout  any  water. 

And  died  like  a  Duke-and-a-Duchess's  daughter ! 

MORAL. 

Take  warning,  ye  fair,  from  this  tale  of  the  Bard's, 

And  don't  go  where  fortunes  are  told  on  the  cards. 

But  steer  clear  of  Conjurers, — never  put  query 

To  "  Wise  Mrs.  Williams,"  or  folks  like  Ruggieri. 

When  alone  in  your  room  shut  the  door  close,  and  lock  it ! 

Above  all,  —  keep   your    handkerchief    safe  in  your 

POCKET ! 

Lest  you  too  should  stumble,  and  Lord  Leveson  Gower,  he 
Be  called  on, — sad  poet ! — to  tell  your  sad  story ! 


It  was  in  the  summer  of  1838  that  a  party  from  Tappington 
reached  the  metropolis  with  a  view  of  witnessing  the  coronation 
of  their  youthful  Queen,  whom  God  long  preserve ! — This  pur- 
pose they  were  fortunate  enough  to  accomplish  by  the  purchase 
of  a  peer's  tickets  from  a  stationer  in  the  Strand,  who  was  en- 
abled so  to  dispose  of  some,  greatly  to  the  indignation  of  the 
hereditary  Earl  Marshal.  How  Mr.  Barney  managed  to  insin- 
uate himself  into  the  Abbey  remains  a  mystery ;  his  character- 
istic modesty  and  address  doubtless  assisted  him,  for  there  he 
unquestionably  was.  The  result  of  his  observations  was  thus 
communicated  to  his  associates  in  the  Servants'  Hall,  upon  his 
return,  to  the  infinite  delectation  of  Mademoiselle  Pauline,  over 
a  Cruiskeen  of  his  own  concocting. 


ACCOUNT  OF  THE  CORONATION.  217 


Mr,  ISatnes  Waguire'gs  Account  of  tf)e 

(JToronation. 

Air. — "  The  Orwes  of  Blarney." 

OCH !  the  Coronation  !  what  celebration 
For  emulation  can  with  it  compare  ? 
When  to  Westminster  the  Royal  Spinster, 

And  the  Duke  of  Leinster,  all  in  order  did  repair ! 
'Twas  there  you'd  see  the  New  Polisheraen 
Making  a  skrimmage  at  half  after  four, 
And  the  Lords  and  Ladies,  and  the  Miss  O'Gradys, 
All  standing  round  before  the  Abbey  door. 

Their  pillows  scorning,  that  self-same  morning 

Themselves  adorning,  all  by  the  candle-light. 
With  roses  and  lilies,  and  daffy-down-dillies. 

And  gould  and  jewels,  and  rich  di'monds  bright. 
And  then  approaches  five  hundred  coaches, 

With  General  Dullbeak. — Och !  'twas  mighty  fine 
To  see  how  asy  bould  Corporal  Casey, 

With  his  sword  drawn,  prancing  made  them  kape  the  line. 

Then  the  Guns'  alarums,  and  the  King  of  Arums, 

All  in  his  Garters  and  his  Clarence  shoes, 
Opening  the  massy  doors  to  the  bould  Ambassydors, 

The  Prince  of  Potboys,  and  great  haythen  Jews ; 
'Twould  have  made  you  crazy  to  see  Esterhazy 

All  jools  from  his  jasey  to  his  di'mond  boots. 
With  Alderman  Harmer,  and  that  swate  charmer, 

The  female  heiress,  Miss  Anja-ly  Coutts. 

And  Wellington,  walking  with  his  swoord  drawn,  talking 
To  Hill  and  Hardinge,  haroes  of  great  fame : 

And  Sir  De  Lacy,  and  the  Duke  Dalmasy 

(They  called  him  Sowlt  afore  he  changed  his  name), 

Themselves  presading  Lord  Melbourne,  lading 
The  Queen,  the  darling,  to  her  royal  chair, 


218  BARNEY  MAGUIRE'S 

And  that  fine  ould  fellow,  the  Duke  of  Pell-Mello, 
The  Queen  of  Portingal's  Chargy-de-fair. 

Then  the  Noble  Prussians,  likewise  the  Russians, 

In  fine  laced  jackets  with  their  goulden  cuffs, 
And  the  Bavarians,  and  the  proud  Hungarians, 

And  Every thingarians  all  in  furs  and  mufis. 
Then  Misthur  Spaker,  with  Misthur  Pays  the  Quaker, 

All  in  the  Gallery  you  might  persave ; 
But  Lord  Brougham  was  missing,  and  gone  a-fishing, 

Ounly  crass  Lord  Essex  would  not  give  him  lave. 

There  was  Baron  Alten  himself  exalting. 

And  Prince  Von  Schwartzenberg,  and  many  more, 
Och !  I'd  be  bothered  and  entirely  smothered 

To  tell  the  half  of  'em  was  to  the  fore ; 
With  the  swate  Peeresses,  in  their  crowns  and  dresses, 

And  Aldermanesses,  and  the  Boord  of  Works ; 
But  Mehemet  Ali  said,  quite  gintaly, 

"  I'd  be  proud  to  see  the  likes  among  the  Turks !" 

Then  the  Queen,  Heaven  bless  her !  och !  they  did  dress  her 

In  her  purple  garments  and  her  goulden  Crown ; 
Like  Venus  or  Hebe,  or  the  Queen  of  Sheby, 

With  eight  young  ladies  houlding  up  her  gown. 
Sure  'twas  grand  to  see  her,  also  for  to  he-ar 

The  big  drums  bating,  and  the  trumpets  blow, 
And  Sir  George  Smart !     Oh  !  he  played  a  Consarto, 

With  his  four-and-twenty  fiddlers  all  on  a  row ! 

Then  the  Lord  Archbishop  held  a  goulden  dish  up, 

For  to  resave  her  bounty  and  great  wealth. 
Saying,  "  Plase  your  Glory,  great  Queen  Vic-tory ! 

Ye'll  give  the  Clargy  lave  to  dhrink  your  health  !" 
Then  his  Riverence,  retrating,  discoorsed  the  mating ; 

"  Boys !     Here's  your  Queen !  deny  it  if  you  can  I 
And  if  any  bould  traitour,  or  infarior  craythur. 

Sneezes  at  that,  I'd  like  to  see  the  man !" 


ACCOUNT  OF  THE  CORONATION.  219 

Then  the  Nobles  kneeling  to  the  Powers  appealing, 

"  Heaven  .'jend  your  Majesty  a  glorious  reign !" 
And  Sir  Claudius  Hunter  he  did  confront  her, 

All  in  his  scarlet  gown  and  goulden  chain. 
The  great  Lord  May'r,  too,  sat  in  his  chair,  too, 

But  mighty  sarious,  looking  fit  to  cry, 
For  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  all  in  his  hurry. 

Throwing  the  thirteens,  hit  him  in  his  eye. 

Then  there  was  preaching,  and  good  store  of  speeching, 

With  Dukes  and  Marquises  on  bended  knee ; 
And  they  did  splash  her  with  raal  Macasshur, 

And  the  Queen  said,  "  Ah !  then  thank  ye  all  for  me !" — 
Then  the  trumpets  braying,  and  the  organ  playing. 

And  sweet  trombones,  with  their  silver  tones ; 
But  Lord  Rolle  was  rolling ; — 'twas  mighty  consoling 

To  tliink  his  Lordship  did  not  break  his  bones ! 

Then  the  crames  and  custard,  and  the  beef  and  mustard, 

All  on  the  tombstones  like  a  poultherer's  shop ; 
With  lobsters  and  white-bait,  and  other  swate-meats, 

And  wine  and  nagus,  and  Imperial  Pop ! 
There  was  cakes  and  apples  in  all  the  Chapels, 

With  fine  polonies,  and  rich  mellow  pears, — 
Och !  the  Count  Von  StrogonofT,  sure  he  got  prog  enough. 

The  sly  ould  Divil,  undernathe  the  stairs. 

Then  the  cannons  thundered,  and  the  people  wondered. 

Crying,  "  God  save  Victoria,  our  Royal  Queen  !" — 
■ — Och !  if  myself  should  live  to  be  a  hundred. 

Sure  it's  the  proudest  day  that  I'll  have  seen. 
And  now,  I've  ended,  what  I  pretended, 

This  narration  splendid  in  swate  poe-thry, 
Ye  dear  bewitchcr,  just  hand  the  pitcher, 

Faith,  it's  myself  that's  getting  mighty  dhry. 


220  THE  ''MONSTRE"   BALLOON. 


As  a  pendant  to  the  foregoing,  I  shall  venture  to  insert  Mr. 
Simpkinson's  lucubrations  on  a  subject  to  him,  as  a  Savant  of 
the  first  class,  scarcely  less  interesting.  The  aerial  voyage  to 
which  it  alludes  took  place  about  a  year  and  a  half  previously 
to  the  august  event  already  recorded,  and  the  excitement  mani- 
fested in  the  learned  Antiquary's  effusion  may  give  some  faint 
idea  of  that  which  prevailed  generally  among  the  Sons  of 
Science  at  that  memorable  epoch. 


OH !  the  balloon,  the  great  balloon, 
It  left  Vauxhall  one  Monday  at  noon. 
And  every  one  said  we  should  hear  of  it  soon, 
"With  news  from  Aleppo  or  Scanderoon. 
But  very  soon  after  folks  changed  their  tune : 
"  The  netting  had  burst — the  silk — the  shalloon  ; — 
It  had  met  with  a  trade-wind — a  deuced  monsoon — 
It  was  blown  out  to  sea — it  was  blown  to  the  moon — 
They  ought  to  have  put  off  their  journey  till  June ; 
Sure  none  but  a  donkey,  a  goose,  or  baboon 
Would  go  up  in  November  in  any  balloon  !" 

Then  they  talked  about  Green — "  Oh !  where's  Mister  Green  ? 

And  where's  Mr.  Holland  who  hired  the  machine  ? 

And  where  is  Monck  Mason,  the  man  that  has  been 

Up  so  often  before — twelve  times  or  thirteen — 

And  who  writes  such  nice  letters  describing  the  scene? 

And  where's  the  cold  fowl,  and  the  ham,  and  poteen  ? 

The  pressed  beef,  with  the  fat  cut  off — nothing  but  lean, 

And  the  portable  soup  in  the  patent  tureen  ? 

Have  they  got  to  Grand  Cairo  or  reached  Aberdeen  ? 

Or  Jerusalem — Hamburg — or  Ballyporeen  ? 

No  !  they  have  not  been  seen !     Oh !  they  haven't  been  seen !" 


THE  ''MONSTRE"   BALLOON.  221 

Stay  !  here's  Mister  Gye — Mr.  Frederick  Gyc — 
"  At  Paris,"  says  he,  "  I've  been  up  very  high, 
A  couple  of  hundred  of  toises,  or  nigh, 
A  cockstride  the  Tuileries'  pantiles,  to  spy 
"With  Dollond's  best  telescope  stuck  at  my  eye, 
And  my  umbrella  under  my  arm  like  Paul  Pry, 
But  I  could  see  nothing  at  all  but  the  sky ; 
So  I  thought  with  myself  'twas  of  no  use  to  try 
Any  longer ;  and,  feeling  remarkably  dry 
From  sitting  all  day  stuck  up  there,  like  a  Guy, 
I  came  down  again,  and — you  see — here  am  I !" 

But  here's  Mr.  Hughes ! — What  says  young  Mr.  Hughes  ? — 
"  Why,  I'm  sorry  to  say  we've  not  got  any  news 
Since  the  letter  they  threw  down  in  one  of  their  shoes, 
Which  gave  the  mayor's  nose  such  a  deuce  of  a  bruise. 
As  he  popped  up  his  eye-glass  to  look  at  their  cruise 
Over  Dover ;  and  which  the  folks  flocked  to  peruse 
At  Squiers's  bazaar,  the  same  evening,  in  crews — 
Politicians,  news-mongers,  town-council,  and  blues, 
Turks,  Heretics,  Infidels,  Jumpers,  and  Jews, 
Scorning  Bachelor's  papers,  and  Warren's  reviews  : 
But  the  wind  was  then  blowing  towards  Helvoetsluys, 
And  my  father  and  I  are  in  terrible  stews. 
For  so  large  a  balloon  is  a  sad  thing  to  lose !" — 

Here's  news  come  at  last ! — Here's  news  come  at  last ! — 

A  vessel's  come  in,  which  has  sailed  very  fast ; 

And  a  gentleman  serving  before  the  mast, — 

Mister  Nokes, — has  declared  that  "  the  party  has  past 

Safe  across  to  the  Hague,  where  their  grapnel  they  cast. 

As  a  fat  burgomaster  was  staring  aghast 

To  see  such  a  monster  come  borne  on  the  blast, 

And  it  caught  in  his  waistband,  and  there  it  stuck  fast !" — 

Oh  fie !  Mister  Nokes, — for  shame,  JMr.  Nokes ! 

To  be  poking  your  fun  at  us  plain-dealing  folks — 

Sir,  this  isn't  a  time  to  be  cracking  your  jokes. 

And  such  jesting  your  malice  but  scurvily  cloaks  ; 


222  THE  ''MONSTRE"   BALLOON. 

Such  a  trumpery  tale  every  one  of  us  smokes, 

And  we  know  very  well  your  whole  story's  a  hoax ! — 

" Oh !  what  shall  we  do? — Oh !  where  will  it  end? — 

Can  nobody  go  ? — Can  nobody  send 

To  Calais — or  Bergen-op-zoom — or  Ostend  ? 

Can't  you  go  there  yourself? — Can't  you  write  to  a  friend, 

For  news  upon  which  we  may  safely  depend  ?" — 

Huzza !  huzza !  one  and  eight-pence  to  pay 

For  a  letter  from  Hamborough,  just  come  to  say 

They  descended  at  Weilburg,  about  break  of  day ; 

And  they've  lent  them  the  palace  there  during  their  stay, 

And  the  town  is  becoming  uncommonly  gay, 

And  they're  feasting  the  party,  and  soaking  their  clay 

With  Johannisberg,  Rudeshcim,  Moselle,  and  Tokay ! 

And  the  Landgraves,  and  Margraves,  and  Counts  beg  and  pray 

That  they  won't  think,  as  yet,  about  going  away ; 

Notwithstanding,  they  don't  mean  to  make  much  delay, 

But  pack  up  the  balloon  in  a  wagon  or  dray. 

And  pop  themselves  into  a  German  "po-shay" 

And  get  on  to  Paris  by  Lisle  and  Tournay ; 

Where  they  boldly  declare,  any  wager  they'll  lay 

If  the  gas  people  there  do  not  ask  them  to  pay 

Such  a  sum  as  must  force  them  at  once  to  say  "  Nay," 

They'll  inflate  the  balloon  in  the  Champs-Elysees, 

And  be  back  again  here  the  beginning  of  May. — 

Dear  me !  what  a  treat  for  a  juvenile /ete/ 

What  thousands  will  flock  their  arrival  to  greet ! 

There'll  be  hardly  a  soul  to  be  seen  in  the  street. 

For  at  Vauxhall  the  whole  population  will  meet, 

And  you'll  scarcely  get  standing-room,  much  less  a  seat, 

For  this  all  preceding  attraction  must  beat ; 

Since  they'll  unfold  what  we  want  to  be  told, — 

How  they  coughed,  how  they  sneezed,  how  they  shivered  with 

cold, 
How  they  tippled  the  "  cordial"  as  racy  and  old 
As  Hodges,  or  Deady,  or  Smith  ever  sold. 


TUE  ''MONSTRE"   BALLOON.  223 

And  how  they  all  then  felt  remarkably  bold ; 

How  they  thought  the  boiled  beef  worth  its  own  weight  in  gold, 

And  how  Mr.  Green  was  beginning  to  scold 

Because  Mr.  Mason  Avould  try  to  lay  hold 

Of  the  moon,  and  had  very  near  overboard  rolled ! 

And  there  they'll  be  seen,  they'll  be  all  to  be  seen, — 

The  great-coats,  the  coffee-pots,  mugs,  and  tureen ! 

With  the  tight-rope,  and  fireworks,  and  dancing  between. 

If  the  weather  should  only  prove  fair  and  serene ; 

And  there,  on  a  beautiful  transparent  screen, 

In  the  middle  you'll  see  a  large  picture  of  Green, 

Mr.  Holland  on  one  side,  who  hired  the  machine, 

Mr.  Mason  on  t'other,  describing  the  scene ; 

And  Fame,  on  one  leg,  in  the  air,  like  a  queen, 

With  three  wreaths  and  a  trumpet,  will  over  them  lean ; 

While  Envy,  in  serpents  and  black  bombazin. 

Looks  on  from  below  with  an  air  of  chagrin ! 

Then  they'll  play  up  a  tune  in  the  Koyal  Saloon, 

And  the  people  will  dance  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 

And  keep  up  the  ball  till  the  next  day  at  noon ; 

And  the  peer  and  the  peasant,  the  lord  and  the  loon. 

The  haughty  grandee  and  the  low  picaroon. 

The  six-foot  life-guardsman  and  little  gossoon, 

Will  all  join  in  three  cheers  for  the  "  Monstre"  Balloon ! 


It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  I  have  not  as  yet  been  able 
to  discover  more  than  a  single  specimen  of  my  friend  "  Suckle- 
thumbkin's"  Muse.  The  event  it  alludes  to,  probably  the 
euthanasia  of  the  late  Mr.  Greenacre,  will  scarcely  have  yet 
faded  from  the  recollection  of  an  admiring  public.  Although, 
with  the  usual  difiidence  of  a  man  of  fashion,  Augustus  has 
"sunk"  the  fact  of  his  own  presence  on  that  interesting  occa- 
sion, I  have  every  reason  to  believe  that,  in  describing  the 
party  at  the  auherge  hereafter  mentioned,  he  might  have  said, 
with  a  brother  Exquisite,  "  Quorum  pars  magna  Jui." 


224  HON.  MR.  SUGKLETHUMBKIN'S  STORY. 


HON.  MR.  SUCKLETHUMBKIN'S   STORY. 


S1)e  ISxecution. 

A    SPORTING    ANECDOTE. 

MY  Lord  Tomnoddy  got  up  one  day ; 
It  was  half  after  two,     He  had  nothing  to  do, 
So  his  Lordship  rang  for  his  cabriolet. 

Tiger  Tim     "Was  clean  of  limb, 
His  boots  were  polished,  his  jacket  was  trim  ; 
AVith  a  very  smart  tie  in  his  smart  cravat. 
And  a  smart  cockade  on  the  top  of  his  hat ; 
Tallest  of  boys,  or  shortest  of  men. 
He  stood  in  his  stockings  just  four  foot  ten  ; 
And  he  asked,  as  he  held  the  door  on  the  swing, 
"  Pray,  did  your  Lordship  please  to  ring  ?" 

My  Lord  Tomnoddy  he  raised  his  head. 
And  thus  to  Tiger  Tim  he  said : 

"  Malibran's  dead,     Duvernay's  fled, 
Taglioni  has  not  yet  arrived  in  her  stead ; 
Tiger  Tim,  come  tell  me  true. 
What  may  a  Nobleman  find  to  do  ?" — 
Tim  looked  up,  and  Tim  looked  down. 
He  paused,  and  he  put  on  a  thoughtful  frown. 
And  he  held  up  his  hat,  and  he  peeped  in  the  crown ; 
He  bit  his  lip,  and  he  scratched  his  head, 
He  let  go  the  handle,  and  thus  he  said. 
As  the  door,  released,  behind  him  banged : 
"  An't  please  you,  my  Lord,  there's  a  man  to  be  hanged." 

My  Lord  Tomnoddy  jumped  up  at  the  news, 

"  Run  to  M'Fuze,     And  Lieutenant  Tregooze, 
And  run  to  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks,  of  the  Blues. 


THE  EXECUTION.  225 

Rope-dancers  a  score     I've  seen  before — 
Madam  Sacchi,  Antonio,  and  Master  Black-more ; 

But  to  see  a  man  swing    At  the  end  of  a  string, 
Witli  his  neck  in  a  noose,  will  be  quite  a  new  thing !" 

My  Lord  Tomnoddy  stept  into  his  cab — 
Dark  rifle  green,  with  a  lining  of  drab  ; 

Through  street  and  through  square 

His  high-trotting  mare, 
Like  one  of  Ducrow's,  goes  pawing  the  air. 
Adown  Piccadilly  and  Waterloo  Place 
Went  the  high-trotting  mare  at  a  very  quick  pace ; 

She  produced  some  alarm.     But  did  no  great  harm. 
Save  frightening  a  nurse  with  a  child  on  her  arm. 

Spattering  with  clay     Two  urchins  at  play. 
Knocking  down — very  much  to  the  sweeper's  dismay — 
An  old  woman  who  wouldn't  get  out  of  the  way. 

And  upsetting  a  stall     Near  Exeter  Hall, 
Which  made  all  the  pious  Church-Mission  folks  squall. 

But  eastward  afar     Through  Temple  Bar, 
My  Lord  Tomnoddy  directs  his  car ; 

Never  heeding  their  squalls. 

Or  their  calls,  or  their  bawls, 
He  passes  by  Waithman's  Emporium  for  shawls, 
And,  merely  just  catching  a  glimpse  of  St.  Paul's, 

Turns  down  the  Old  Bailey, 

Where  in  front  of  the  gaol,  he 
Pulls  up  at  the  door  of  the  gin-shop,  and  gayly 
Cries,  "  What  must  I  fork  out  to-night,  my  trump, 
For  the  whole  first  floor  of  the  Magpie  and  Stump  ?" 


The  clock  strikes  Twelve — it  is  dark  midnight — 
Yet  the  Magpie  and  Stump  is  one  blaze  of  light. 

The  parties  are  met ;     The  tables  are  set ; 
There  is  " punch,"  " cold  without"  " hot  idth"  heavy  wet, 
Ale-glasses  and  jugs,     And  rummers  and  mugs, 

And  sand  on  the  floor,  without  carpets  or  rugs, 
15 


226  HON.  MR.  SUCKLETHUMBKIN'S  STORY. 

Cold  fowl  and  cigars,     Pickled  onions  in  jars, 
Welsh  rabbits  and  kidneys — rare  work  for  the  jaws — 
And  very  large  lobsters,  with  very  large  claws ; 

And  there  is  M'Fuze,     And  Lieutenant  Tregooze ; 
And  there  is  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks,  of  the  Blues, 
All  come  to  see  a  man  "  die  in  his  shoes !" 

The  clock  strikes  One !     Supper  is  done, 
And  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks  is  full  of  his  fun, 
Singing  "  Jolly  companions  every  one !" 

My  Lord  Tomnoddy     Is  drinking  gin-toddy, 
And  laughing  at  ev'ry  thing,  and  ev'ry  body. — 

The  clock  strikes  Two !  and  the  clock  strikes  Three ! 
— "  Who  so  merry,  so  merry  as  we  ?" 

Save  Captain  M'Fuze,     Who  is  taking  a  snooze, 
While  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks  is  busy  at  work 
Blacking  his  nose  with  a  piece  of  burnt  cork. 

The  clock  strikes  Four ! —     Round  the  debtors'  door 
Are  gathered  a  couple  of  thousand  or  more ; 

As  many  await    At  the  press-yard  gate. 
Till  slowly  its  folding  doors  open,  and  straight 
The  mob  divides,  and  between  their  ranks 
A  wagon  comes  loaded  with  posts  and  planks. 

The  clock  strikes  Five !     The  Sheriffs  arrive, 
And  the  crowd  is  so  great  that  the  street  seems  alive ; 

But  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks     Blinks,  and  winks. 
A  candle  burns  down  in  the  socket,  and  stinks. 

Lieutenant  Tregooze     Is  dreaming  of  Jews, 
And  acceptances  all  the  bill-brokers  refuse  ; 

My  Lord  Tomnoddy     Has  drunk  all  his  toddy, 
And  just  as  the  dawn  is  beginning  to  peep. 
The  whole  of  the  party  are  fast  asleep. 

Sweetly,  oh !  sweetly,  the  morning  breaks, 

With  roseate  streaks. 
Like  the  first  faint  blush  on  a  maiden's  cheeks ; 


THE  EXECUTION.  227 

Seemed  as  that  mild  and  clear  blue  sky 
Smiled  upon  all  thiugs  far  aud  high, 
On  all — save  the  wretch  conderan'd  to  die ! 
Alack !  that  ever  so  fair  a  Sun, 
As  that  which  its  course  has  now  begun, 
Should  rise  on  such  scene  of  misery ! — 
Should  gild  with  rays  so  light  and  free 
That  dismal,  dark-frowning  Gallows-tree  1 

And  hark  ! — a  sound  comes,  big  with  fate ; 

The  clock  from  St.  Sepulchre's  tower  strikes — Eight ! — 

List  to  that  low  funereal  bell : 

It  is  tolling,  alas !  a  living  man's  knell ! — 

And  see ! — from  forth  that  opening  door 

They  come — He  steps  that  threshold  o'er 

Who  never  shall  tread  upon  threshold  more ! 

— God !  'tis  a  fearsome  thing  to  see 

That  pale  wan  man's  mute  agony, — 

The  glare  of  that  wild,  despairing  eye. 

Now  bent  on  the  crowd,  now  turned  to  the  sky, 

As  though  'twere  scanning,  in  doubt  and  in  fear, 

The  path  of  the  Spirit's  unknown  career  ; 

Those  pinioned  arms,  those  hands  that  ne'er 

Shall  be  lifted  again, — not  even  in  prayer ; 

That  heaving  chest ! — Enough — 'tis  done ! 

The  bolt  has  fallen ! — The  spirit  is  gone — 

For  weal  or  for  woe  is  known  but  to  One ! — 

— Oh !  'twas  a  fearsome  sight ! — Ah  me, 

A  deed  to  shudder  at, — not  to  see. 

Again  that  clock !  'tis  time,  'tis  time ! 

The  hour  is  past :  with  its  earliest  chime 

The  cord  is  severed,  the  lifeless  clay 

By  "  dungeon  villains  "  is  borne  away : 

Nine ! — 'twas  the  last  concluding  stroke ! 

And  then — my  Lord  Tomnoddy  awoke ! 

And  Tregooze  and  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks  arose, 

And  Captain  M'Fuze,  with  the  black  on  his  nose : 


228  SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A  NEW  PLAT. 

And  they  stared  at  each  other,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Hollo !  Hollo !     Here's  a  rum  Go ! 

Why,  Captain ! — my  Lord ! — Here's  the  devil  to  pay ! 

The  fellow's  been  cut  down  and  taken  away ! 

What's  to  be  done  ?    We've  miss'd  all  the  fun ! — 

Why,  they'll  laugh  at  and  quiz  us  all  over  the  town, 

We  are  all  of  us  done  so  uncommonly  brown  1" 


What  was  to  be  done  ? — 'twas  perfectly  plain 
That  they  could  not  well  hang  the  man  over  again : 
What  was  to  be  done  ? — The  man  was  dead ! 
Nought  could  be  done — nought  could  be  said ; 
So — my  Lord  Tomnoddy  went  home  to  bed ! 


The  following  communication  will  speak  for  itself: — 
"  On  their  own  actions  modest  men  are  dumb !" 

Seme  Account  of  a  ^ttxs  ipiag, 

IN  A  FAMILIAR  EPISTLE  TO  MY  BKOTHER-IN-LAW,  LIEUT.  8EA- 
FORTH,  H.P.,  LATE  OF  THE  HON.  E.I.C.'S  SECOND  REGT. 
OF   BOMBAY  FEN0IBLE8. 

"The  play's  the  t\Ang\" —Hamlet. 

Tavistock  Hotel,  Nov.  1839. 
Dear  Charles, 

In  reply  to  your  letter,  and  Fanny's, 
Lord  Brougham,   it  appears,   isn't  dead, — though   Queen 

Anne  is; 
'Twas  a  "plot"  and  a  "farce" — you  hate  farces,  you  say — 
Take  another  "  plot,"  then,  viz.,  the  plot  of  the  Play. 


SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A   NEW  PLAY.  229 

The  Countess  of  Arundel,  high  in  degree, 

As  a  lady  possessed  of  an  earldom  in  fee, 

Was  imprudent  enough,  at  fifteen  years  of  age, — 

A  period  of  life  when  we're  not  over  sage, — 

To  form  a  liaison — in  fact,  to  engage 

Her  hand  to  a  Hop-o'-my-thumb  of  a  Page, 

This  put  her  Papa —     She  had  no  Mamma — 
As  may  well  be  supposed,  in  a  deuce  of  a  rage. 

Mr.  Benjamin  Franklin  was  wont  to  repeat. 

In  his  budget  of  proverbs,  "  Stol'n  kisses  are  sweet !" 

But  they  have  their  alloy : —    Fate  assumed,  to  annoy 
Miss  Arundel's  peace,  and  embitter  her  joy, 
The  equivocal  shape  of  a  fine  little  Boy. 

When,  through  "  the  young  stranger,"  her  secret  took  wind, 
The  old  Lord  was  neither  "  to  baud  nor  to  bind ;" 

He  bounced  up  and  down.     And  so  fearful  a  frown 
Contracted  his  brow,  you'd  have  thought  he'd  been  blind. 

The  young  lady,  they  say.     Having  fainted  away. 
Was  confined  to  her  room  for  the  whole  of  that  day ; 
While  her  beau — no  rare  thing  in  the  old  feudal  system — 
Disappeared  the  next  morning,  and  nobody  missed  him. 

The  fact  is,  his  Lordship,— who  hadn't,  it  seems. 
Formed  the  slightest  idea,  not  ev'n  in  his  dreams, 
That  the  pair  had  been  wedded  according  to  law,— 
Conceived  that  his  daughter  had  made  a/aiw;  pas; 

So  he  bribed  at  a  high  rate     A  sort  of  a  Pirate 
To  knock  out  the  poor  dear  young  Gentleman's  brains. 
And  gave  him  a  handsome  douceur  for  his  pains. 
The  Page  thus  disposed  of,  his  Lordship  now  turns 
His  attention  at  once  to  the  Lady's  concerns ; 

And,  alarmed  for  the  future.     Looks  out  for  a  suitor 
One  not  fond  of  raking,  nor  giv'n  to  "  the  pewter," 
But  adapted  to  act  both  the  husband  and  tutor ; — 
Finds  a  highly  respectable  middle-aged  widower. 
Marries  her  ofi",  and  thanks  Heaven  that  he's  rid  of  her. 


230  SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A   NEW  PLAT. 

Relieved  from  his  cares,    The  old  Peer  now  prepares 
To  arrange  in  good  earnest  his  worldly  affairs ; 
Has  his  will  made  anew  by  a  Special  Attorney, 
Sickens, — takes  to  his  bed, — and  sets  out  on  his  journey. 

Which  way  he  travelled     Has  not  been  unravelled ; 
To  speculate  much  on  the  point  were  too  curious. 
If  the  climate  he  reached  were  serene  or  sulphureous. 
To  be  sure,  in  his  balance-sheet  all  must  declare 
One  item — the  Page — was  an  awkward  affair ; 
But,  per  contra,  he'd  lately  endowed  a  new  Chantry 
For  Priests,  with  ten  marks,  and  the  run  of  the  pantry. 

Be  that  as  it  may.     It's  sufficient  to  say 
That  his  tomb  in  the  chancel  stands  there  to  this  day, 
Built  of  Bethersden  marble — a  dark  bluish-gray. 
The  figure,  a  fine  one  of  pure  alabaster. 
Some  cleanly  churchwarden  has  covered  with  plaster ; 

While  some  Vandal  or  Jew,     With  a  taste  for  virtu^ 
Has  knocked  off  his  toes,  to  place,  I  suppose, 
In  some  Pickwick  Museum,  with  part  of  his  nose ; 

From  his  belt  and  his  sword    And  his  misericorde 
The  enamel's  been  chipped  out,  and  never  restored ; 
His  ci-gtt  in  old  French  is  inscribed  all  around, 
And  his  head's  in  his  helm,  and  his  heel's  on  his  hound ; 
The  palms  of  his  hands,  as  if  going  to  pray, 
Are  joined  and  upraised  o'er  his  bosom —    But  stay ! 
I  forgot  that  his  tomb's  not  described  in  the  Play ! 


Lady  Arundel,  now  in  her  own  right  a  Peeress, 
Perplexes  her  noddle  with  no  such  nice  queries, 
But  produces  in  time,  to  her  husband's  great  joy, 
Another  remarkably  "  fine  little  boy," 

As  novel  connections     Oft  change  the  affections, 
And  turn  all  one's  love  into  different  directions. 
Now  to  young   "Johnny  Newcome"  she  seems  to  confine 

hers, 
Neglecting  the  poor  little  dear  out  at  dry-nurse ; 

Nay,  far  worse  than  that,     She  considers  "  the  brat" 
As  a  bore, — fears  her  husband  may  smell  out  a  rat. 


SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A   NEW  PLAY.  231 

For  her  legal  adviser    She  takes  an  old  Miser, 
A  sort  of  "  poor  cousin."     She  might  have  been  wiser ; 

For  this  arrant  deceiver,     By  name  Maurice  Beevor, 
A  shocking  old  scamp,  should  her  own  issue  fail, 
By  the  law  of  the  land  stands  the  next  in  entail ; 
So,  as  soon  as  she  asked  him  to  hit  on  some  plan 
To  provide  for  her  eldest,  away  the  rogue  ran 
To  that  self-same  unprincipled  sea-faring  man ; 
In  his  ear  whispered  low    *     *     *— "Bully  Gaussen"  said 

"  Done  !— 
I  Burked  the  papa,  now  I'll  Bishop  the  son !" 

'Twas  agreed  ;  and,  with  speed     To  accomplish  the  deed, 
He  adopted  a  scheme  he  was  sure  would  succeed. 

By  long  cock-and-bull  stories.    Of  Candish  and  Noreys, 
Of  Drake,  and  bold  Raleigh  (then  fresh  in  his  glories, 
Acquired  'mongst  the  Indians,  and  Rapparee  Tories), 

He  so  worked  on  the  lad,     That  he  left,  which  was  bad, 
The  only  true  friend  in  the  world  that  he  had. 
Father  Onslow,  a  priest,  though  to  quit  him  most  loth. 
Who  in  childhood  had  furnished  his  pap  and  his  broth, 
At  no  small  risk  of  scandal,  indeed,  to  his  cloth. 

The  kidnapping  crimp    Took  the  foolish  young  imp 
On  board  of  his  cutter  so  trim  and  so  jimp. 
Then,  seizing  him  just  as  you'd  handle  a  shrimp, 
Twirled  him  thrice  in  the  air  with  a  whirligig  motion. 
And  soused  him  at  once  neck  and  heels  in  the  ocean ; 

This  was  off  Plymouth  Sound, 

And  he  must  have  been  drowned, 
For  'twas  nonsense  to  think  he  could  swim  to  dry  ground, 

If  "A  very  great  Warman,     Called  Billy  the  Norman," 
Had  not  just  at  that  moment  sailed  by,  outward  bound. 

A  shark  of  great  size,     With  his  great  glassy  eyes, 
Sheered  off  as  he  came,  and  relinquished  the  prize : 
So  he  picked  up  the  lad,*  swabbed  and  dry-rubbed  and  mopped 

him, 
And,  having  no  children,  resolved  to  adopt  him. 

*  An  incident  very  like  one  in  Jack  Stieppard— 
A  work  some  have  lauded,  and  others  have  peppered— 


232  SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A   NEW  PLAY. 

Full  many  a  year     Did  he  hand,  reef,  and  steer, 
And  by  no  means  considered  himself  as  small  beer, 
When  old  Norman  at  length  died  and  left  him  his  frigate, 
With  lots  of  pistoles  in  his  coffer  to  rig  it. 

A  sailor  ne'er  moans ;     So,  consigning  the  bones 
Of  his  friend  to  the  locker  of  one  Mr.  Jones, 

For  England  he  steers. —    On  the  voyage  it  appears 
That  he  rescued  a  maid  from  the  Dey  of  Algiers ; 
And  at  length  reached  the  Sussex  coast,  where,  in  a 

bay. 
Not  a  great  way  from  Brighton,  most  cosily  lay 
His  vessel  at  anchor,  the  very  same  day 
That  the  Poet  begins — thus  commencing  his  Play : 


Act  I. 

Giles  Gaussen  accosts  old  Sir  Maurice  de  Beevor, 
And  puts  the  poor  Knight  in  a  deuce  of  a  fever, 
By  saying  the  boy,  whom  he  took  out  to  please  him, 
Is  come  back  a  Captain  on  purpose  to  tease  him. — 
Sir  Maurice,  who  gladly  would  see  Mr.  Gaussen 
Breaking  stones  on  the  highway,  or  sweeping  a  crossing, 
Dissembles — observes,  It's  of  no  use  to  fret, — 
And  hints  he  may  find  some  more  work  for  him  yet ; 
Then  calls  at  the  castle,  and  tells  Lady  A. 
That  the  boy  they  had  ten  years  ago  sent  away 
Is  returned  a  grown  man,  and,  to  come  to  the  point, 
Will  put  her  son  Percy's  nose  clean  out  of  joint ; 
But  adds,  that  herself  she  no  longer  need  vex, 
If  she'll  buy  him  (Sir  Maurice)  a  farm  near  the  Ex. 
"  Oh !  take  it,"  she  cries ;  "  but  secure  every  document." — 
"A   bargain,"    says    Maurice, —  "including    the    stock,    you 
meant  ?" — 

Where  a  Dutch  pirate  kidnaps  and  tosses  Thames  Darrel 

Just  so  in  the  sea,  and  he's  saved  by  a  barrel, — 

On  the  coast,  if  I  recollect  rightly,  it's  flung  whole, 

And  the  hero,  half  drowned,  scrambles  out  of  the  bung-hole. 

[It  ain't  no  sich  thing!— the  hero  ain't  bung'd  in  no  barrel  at  all.— He's  picked  up  by 
a  captain,  just  as  Norman  was  arterwards. — Feint.  Dev.] 


SOME  ACCOUNT   OF  A   iVEW  FLAY.  233 

The  Captain,  meanwhile,     With  a  lover-like  smile. 
And  a  fine  cambric  handkerchief,  wipes  off  the  tears 
From  Miss  Violet's  eyelash,  and  hushes  her  fears. 
(That's  the  Lady  he  saved  from  the  Dey  of  Algiers.) 
Now  arises  a  delicate  point,  and  this  is  it — 
The  young  Lady  herself  is  but  down  on  a  visit. 

She's  perplexed;   and,  in  fact,     Does  not  know  how  to 
act. 
It's  her  very  first  visit — and  then  to  begin 
By  asking  a  stranger,  a  gentleman,  in — 
One  with  moustaches  too — and  a  tuft  on  his  chin — 

She  "  really  don't  know —     He  had  much  better  go," — 
Here  the  Countess  steps  in  from  behind,  and  says  "  No ! — 
Fair  sir,  you  are  welcome.     Do,  pray,  stop  and  dine — 
You'll  take  our  pot-luck — and  we've  decentish  wine." 
He  bows,  looks  at  Miss, — and  he  does  not  decline. 

Act  II. 

After  dinner  the  Captain  recounts,  with  much  glee, 
All  he's  heard,  seen,  and  done  since  he  first  went  to  sea, 

All  his  perils  and  scrapes,     And  his  hair-breadth  escapes, 
Talks  of  boa-constrictors,  and  lions,  and  apes. 
And  fierce  "  Bengal  Tigers,"  like  that  which,  you  know, 
If  you've  ever  seen  any  respectable  "  Show," 
"  Carried  off  the  unfortunate  Mr.  Munro." 
Then,  diverging  aw-hile,  he  adverts  to  the  mystery 
"Which  hangs,  like  a  cloud,  o'er  his  own  private  history — 
How  he  ran  off  to  sea — how  they  set  him  afloat 
(Not  a  word,  though,  of  barrel  or  buug-hole — See  Note), 

How  he  happened  to  meet     With  the  Algerine  fleet, 
And  forced  them,  by  sheer  dint  of  arms,  to  retreat. 
Thus  saving  his  Violet — (One  of  his  feet 
Here  just  touched  her  toe,  and  she  moved  on  her  seat), — 

How  his  vessel  was   battered —      In   short  he   so  chat- 
tered, 
Now  lively,  now  serious,  so  ogled  and  flattered. 
That  the  ladies  much  marvelled  a  person  should  be  able 
To  "  make  himself,"  both  said,  "  so  very  agreeable." 


234  SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A   NEW  PLAY. 

Captain  Norman's  adventures  were  scarcely  half  done 
When  Percy  Lord  Ashdale,  her  Ladyship's  son, 

In  a  terrible  fume,     Bounces  into  the  room. 
And  talks  to  his  guest  as  you'd  talk  to  your  groom. 
Claps  his  hand  on  his  rapier.     And  swears  he'll  be  through 

him — 
The  Captain  does  nothing  at  all  but  "  pooh !  pcoh  !"  him — 

Unable  to  smother     His  hate  of  his  brother. 
He  rails  at  his  cousin,  and  blows  up  his  mother. — 
"  Fie !  fie !"  says  the  first. — Says  the  latter,  "  In  sooth, 
This  is  sharper  by  far  than  a  keen  serpent's  tooth !" 
(A  remark,  by  the  way,  which  King  Lear  had  made  years  ago. 
When   he   asked   for   his   Knights,  and   his  Daughters   said, 
"  Here's  a  go  !")— 

This  made  Ashdale  ashamed ;    But  he  must  not  be  blamed 
Too  much  for  his  warmth,  for  like  many  young  fellows  he 
Was  apt  to  lose  temper  when  tortured  by  jealousy. 

Still  speaking  quite  grufi".     He  goes  ofi*  in  a  hufi"; 
Lady  A.,  who  is  now  what  some  call  "  up  to  snufi"," 

Straight  determines  to  patch     Up  a  clandestine  match 
Between  the  Sea-Captain  she  dreads  like  Old  Scratch, 
And  Miss, — whom  she  does  not  think  any  great  catch 
For  Ashdale ; — besides,  he  won't  kick  up  such  shindies 
Were  she  once  fairly  married  and  off  to  the  Indies. 

Act  III. 

Miss  Violet  takes  from  the  Countess  her  tone : 
She  agrees  to  meet  Norman  "  by  moonlight  alone," 

And  slip  off  to  his  bark,     "  The  night  being  dark," 
Though  "  the  moon,"  the  Sea-Captain  says,  rises  in  Heaven 
"  One  hour  before  midnight,"  i.  e.  at  eleven. 

From  which  speech  I  infer, —     Though  perhaps  I  may 
err, — 
That,  though  weatherwise,  doubtless,  'midst  surges  and  surf,  he 
When  "  capering  on  shore  "  was  by  no  means  a  Murphy. 

He  starts  off,  however,  at  sunset  to  reach 

An  old  chapel  in  ruins,  that  stands  on  the  beach, 


SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A   NEW  PLAY.  235 

Where  the  Priest  is  to  bring,  as  he's  promised  by  letter,  a 
Paper  to  prove  his  name,  "  birthright,"  et  cetera. 

Being  rather  too  late,     Gaussen,  lying  in  wait. 
Gives  poor  Father  Onslow  a  knock  on  the  pate, 
But  bolts,  seeing  Norman,  before  he  has  wrested 
From  the  hand  of  the  Priest,  as  Sir  Maurice  requested, 
The  marriage  certificate  duly  attested. — 
Norman  kneels  by  the  clergyman  fainting  and  gory, 
And  begs  he  won't  die  till  he's  told  him  liis  story ; 

The  Father  complies,     Reopens  his  eyes. 
And  tells  him  all  how  and  about  it — and  dies  I 

Act  IV. 

Norman,  now  called  Le  Mesnil,  instructed  of  all. 
Goes  back,  though  it's  getting  quite  late  for  a  call. 
Hangs  his  hat  and  his  cloak  on  a  peg  in  the  hall. 
And  tells  the  proud  Countess  it's  useless  to  smother 
The  fact  any  longer — he  knows  she's  his  Mother ! 

His  Pa's  wedded  Spouse. —    She  questions  his  vov^, 
And  threatens  to  have  him  turned  out  of  the  house. — 

He  still  perseveres,     Till,  in  spite  of  her  fears, 
She  admits  he's  the  son  she  had  cast  off  for  years. 
And  he  gives  her  the  papers  "  all  blistered  with  tears," 
When  Ashdale,  who  chances  his  nose  in  to  poke. 

Takes  his  hat  and  his  cloak,     Just  as  if  in  a  joke, 
Determined  to  put  in  his  wheel  a  new  spoke, 
And  slips  off  thus  disguised,  when  he  sees  by  the  dial  it 
's  time  for  the  rendezvous  fixed  with  Miss  Violet. — 
— Captain  Norman,  who,  after  all,  feels  rather  sore 
At  his  mother's  reserve,  vows  to  see  her  no  more, 
Eings  the  bell  for  the  servant  to  open  the  door. 
And  leaves  his  Mamma  in  a  fit  on  the  floor. 

Act  V. 

Now  comes  the  catastrophe ! — Ashdale,  who's  wrapt  in 
The  cloak,  with  the  hat  and  the  plume  of  the  Captain, 
Leads  Violet  down  through  the  grounds  to  the  chapel 
Where  Gaussen's  concealed — he  springs  forward  to  grapple 


236  SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A   NEW  PLAT. 

The  man  lie's  erroneously  led  to  suppose 

Captain  Norman  himself  by  the  cut  of  his  clothes. 

In  the  midst  of  their  strife,     And  just  as  the  knife 
Of  the  Pirate  is  raised  to  deprive  him  of  life, 
The  Captain  comes  forward,  drawn  there  by  the  squeals 
Of  the  Lady,  and,  knocking  Giles  head  over  heels, 

Fractures  his  "  nob,"     Saves  the  hangman  a  job, 
And  executes  justice  most  strictly,  the  rather, 
'Twas  the  spot  where  that  rascal  had  murdered  his  father. 

Then  in  comes  the  mother.     Who,  finding  one  brother 
Had  the  instant  before  saved  the  life  of  the  other. 

Explains  the  whole  case.     Ashdale  puts  a  good  face 
On  the  matter ;  and,  since  he's  obliged  to  give  place, 
Yields  his  coronet  up  with  a  pretty  good  grace ; 
Norman  vows  he  won't  have  it — the  kinsmen  embrace, — 
And  the  Captain,  the  first  in  this  generous  race. 

To  remove  every  handle     For  gossip  and  scandal, 
Sets  the  whole  of  the  papers  alight  with  the  candle ; 
An  arrangement  takes  place — on  the  very  same  night,  all 
Is  settled  and  done,  and  the  points  the  most  vital 
Are,  N.  takes  the  personals  ;— A.,  in  requital. 
Keeps  the  whole  real  property,  Mansion,  and  Title. — 
V.  falls  to  the  share  of  the  Captain,  and  tries  a 
Sea  voyage,  as  a  Bride,  in  the  "  Koyal  Eliza." — 
Both  are  pleased  with  the  part  they  acquire  as  joint  heirs. 
And  old  Maurice  Beevor  is  bundled  down  stairs ! 

MORAL. 

The  public,  perhaps,  with  the  drama  might  quarrel 
If  deprived  of  all  epilogue,  prologue,  and  moral ; 
This  may  serve  for  all  three  then : — 

"  Young  Ladies  of  property, 
Let  Lady  A.'s  history  sei-ve  as  a  stopper  t'ye ; 
Don't  wed  with  low  people  beneath  your  degree, 
And  if  you've  a  baby,  don't  send  it  to  sea ! 

"  Young  Noblemen,  shun  everything  like  a  brawl ; 
And  be  sure  when  you  dine  out,  or  go  to  a  ball, 


THE  BAGMAN'S  DOG.  237 

Don't  take  the  best  hat  that  you  find  in  the  hall, 
And  leave  one  in  its  stead  that's  worth  nothing  at  all ! 

"Old  Knights,  don't  give  bribes! — above  all,  never  urge  a  man 
To  steal  people's  things,  or  to  stick  an  old  Clergyman ! 

"  And  you,  ye  Sea  Captains !  Avho've  nothing  to  do 

But  to  run  round  the  world,  fight,  and  drink  till  all's  blue, 

And  tell  us  tough  yarns,  and  then  swear  they  are  true. 

Reflect,  notwithstanding  your  seafaring  life, 

That  you  can't  get  on  well  long,  without  you've  a  wife ; 

So  get  one  at  once,  treat  her  kindly  and  gently, 

Write  a  nautical  novel, — and  send  it  to  Bentley !" 


It  has  been  already  hinted  that  Mr,  Peters  had  been  a 
"  traveller "  in  his  day.  The  only  story  which  his  lady  would 
ever  allow  "  her  P."  to  finish — he  began  as  many  as  would  fur- 
nish an  additional  volume  to  the  "  Thousand  and  One  Nights" 
— is  the  last  I  shall  ofier.  The  subject,  I  fear  me,  is  not  over 
new,  but  will  remind  my  friends 

"  Of  something  better  they  have  seen  before." 

MR.  PETERS'S  STORY. 


W^z  13agtnatt'g  Bog. 

Stant  littore  Puppies !— Viegil. 

IT  was  a  litter,  a  litter  of  five, 
Four  are  drowned,  and  one  left  alive. 
He  was  thought  worthy  alone  to  survive. 
And  the  Bagman  resolved  upon  bringing  him  up. 
To  eat  of  his  bread  and  drink  of  his  cup, 
He  was  such  a  dear  little  cock-tailed  pup ! 


238  MR.  PETERS' S  STORY. 

The  Bagman  taught  him  many  a  trick ; 

He  would  cany,  and  fetch,  and  run  after  a  stick, 

Could  well  understand     The  word  of  command, 
And  appear  to  doze     With  a  crust  on  his  nose 

Till  the  Bagman  permissively  waved  his  hand : 

Then  to  throw  up  and  catch  it  he  never  would  fail, 

As  he  sat  up  on  end,  on  his  little  cock-tail. 

Never  was  puppy  so  hien  instruit, 

Or  possessed  of  such  natural  talent  as  he ; 
And  as  he  grew  older,     Every  beholder 

Agreed  he  grew  handsomer,  sleeker,  and  bolder. — 

Time,  however  his  wheels  we  may  clog, 

AYends  steadily  still  with  onward  jog, 

And  the  cock-tailed  puppy's  a  curly-tailed  dog ! 

When,  just  at  the  time     He  was  reaching  his  prime, 
And  all  thought  he'd  be  turning  out  something  sublime, 

One  unlucky  day.     How,  no  one  could  say. 
Whether  soft  liaison  induced  him  to  stray. 
Or  some  kidnapping  vagabond  coaxed  him  away. 

He  was  lost  to  the  view.     Like  the  morning  dew ; — 
He  had  been,  and  was  not — that's  all  that  they  knew. 
And  the  Bagman  stormed,  and  the  Bagman  swore 
As  never  a  Bagman  had  sworn  before ; 
But  storming  or  swearing  but  little  avails 
To  recover  lost  dogs  with  great  curly  tails. — 

In  a  large  paved  court,  close  by  Billiter  Square, 
Stands  a  mansion,  old,  but  in  thorough  repair, 
The  only  thing  strange,  from  the  general  air 
Of  its  size  and  appearance,  is  how  it  got  there  ; 
In  front  is  a  short  semicircular  stair 

Of  stone  steps, — some  half  score, — 

Then  you  reach  the  ground  floor. 
With  a  shell-patterned  architrave  over  the  door. 

It  is  spacious,  and  seems  to  be  built  on  the  plan 

Of  a  Gentleman's  house  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne ; 


THE  BAGMAN'S  DOG.  239 

Which  is  odd,  for  although,     As  we  very  well  know, 
Under  Tudors  and  Stuarts  the  City  could  show 
Many  Noblemen's  seats  above  Bridge  and  below, 
Yet  that  fashion  soon  after  induced  them  to  go 
From  St.  Michael  Cornhill,  and  St.  Mary-le-Bow, 
To  St.  James,  and  St.  George,  and  St.  Anne  in  Soho. — 
Be  this  as  it  may,  at  the  date  I  assign 
To  my  tale, — that's  about  Seventeen  Sixty-nine, — 
This  mansion,  now  rather  upon  the  decline, 
Had  less  dignified  owners, — belonging,  in  fine. 
To  Turner,  Dry,  Weipersyde,  Rogers,  and  Pyne — 
A  respectable  House  in  the  Manchester  line. 

There  were  a  score     Of  Bagmen,  and  more, 
Who  had  travell'd  full  oft  for  the  firm  before ; 
But  just  at  this  period  they  wanted  to  send 
Some  person  on  whom  they  could  safely  depend, — 
A  trustworthy  body,  half  agent,  half  friend, — 
On  some  mercantile  matter  as  far  as  Ostend ; 
And  the  person  they  pitched  on  was  Anthony  Blogg, 
A  grave,  steady  man,  not  addicted  to  grog, — 
The  Bagman,  in  short,  who  had  lost  this  great  dog. 


"  The  Sea !  the  Sea !  the  open  Sea  !— 
That  is  the  place  where  we  all  wish  to  be. 
Rolling  about  on  it  merrily !" 

So  all  sing  and  say     By  night  and  by  day. 
In  the  boudoir,  the  street,  at  the  concert,  and  play, 
In  a  sort  of  coxcombical  roundelay  ; — 
You  may  roam  through  the  City,  transversely  or  straight, 
From  Whitechapel  turnpike  to  Cumberland  gate. 
And  every  young  Lady  who  thrums  a  guitar, 
Ev'ry  moustachio'd  Shopman  who  smokes  a  cigar, 

With  aflfected  devotion.     Promulgates  his  notion. 
Of  being  a  "  Rover"  and  "  child  of  the  Ocean"— 
Whate'er  their  age,  sex,  or  condition  may  be. 
They  all  of  them  long  for  the  "  Wide,  Wide  Sea !" 


240  MR.  PETERS' S  STORY. 

But  however  they  dote,     Only  set  them  afloat 
In  any  craft  bigger  at  all  than  a  boat, 

Take  them  down  to  the  Nore,     And  you'll  see  that,  before 
The  "  Wessel"  they  "  Woyage"  in  has  made  half  her  way 
Between  Shcll-Ness  Point  and  the  pier  at  Heme  Bay, 
Let  the  wind  meet  the  tide  in  the  slightest  degree. 
They'll  be  all  of  them  heartily  sick  of  "  the  Sea  I" 


I've  stood  in  Margate,  on  a  bridge  of  size 
Inferior  far  to  that  described  by  Byron, 

Where  "  palaces  and  pris'ns  on  each  hand  rise," — 
— That  too's  a  stone  one,  this  is  made  of  iron — 
And  little  donkey-boys  your  steps  environ. 

Each  proffering  for  your  choice  his  tiny  hack, 

Vaunting  its  excellence ;  and  should  you  hire  one, 

For  sixpence,  will  he  urge,  with  frequent  thwack. 

The  much-enduring  beast  to  Buenos  Ayres — and  back. 

And  there,  on  many  a  raw  and  gusty  day, 

I've  stood,  and  turned  my  gaze  upon  the  pier. 
And  seen  the  crews,  that  did  embark  so  gay 

That  self-same  morn,  now  disembark  so  queer ; 

Then  to  myself  I've  sighed  and  said,  "  Oh  dear ! 
Who  would  believe  yon  sickly-looking  man's  a 

London  Jack  Tar, — a  Cheapside  Buccaneer !" 
But  hold,  my  Muse ! — for  this  terrific  stanza 
Is  all  too  stiffly  grand  for  our  extravaganza. 


"  So  now  we'll  go  up,  up,  up. 

And  now  we'll  go  down,  down,  down, 
And  now  we'll  go  backwards  and  forwards. 
And  now  we'll  go  roun',  roun',  roun'." — 
— I  hope  you've  sufficient  discernment  to  see, 
Gentle  Reader,  that  here  the  discarding  the  d 
Is  a  fault  which  you  must  not  attribute  to  me; 


THE  BAGMAN'S  DOG.  241 

Thus  my  nurse  cut  it  off  when,  "  with  counterfeit  glee," 

She  sung,  as  she  danced  me  about  on  her  knee, 

In  the  year  of  our  Lord  eighteen  hundred  and  three ; — 

All  I  mean  to  say  is  that  the  Muse  is  now  free 

From  the  self-iinposed  trammels  put  on  by  her  betters. 

And  no  longer  like  Filch,  'midst  the  felons  and  debtors 

At  Drury  Lane,  dances  her  hornpipe  in  fetters. 

Resuming  her  track,     At  once  she  goes  back 
To  our  hero,  the  Bagman. — Alas !  and  Alack ! 

Poor  Anthony  Blogg     Is  as  sick  as  a  dog, 
Spite  of  sundry  unwonted  potations  of  grog, 
By  the  time  the  Dutch  packet  is  fairly  at  sea, 
With  the  sands  called  the  Goodwins  a  league  on  her  lee. 


And  now,  my  good  friends,  I've  a  fine  opportunity 
To  obfuscate  you  all  by  sea  terms  with  impunity, 

And  talking  of  "  calking,"     And  "  quarter-deck  walking," 

"  Fore  and  aft,"     And  "  abaft," 
"Hookers,"  "barkeys,"  and  "  craft" 
(At  which  Mr,  Poole  has  so  wickedly  laught). 
Of  binnacles, — bilboes, — the  boom  called  the  spanker, 
The  best  bower  cable, — the  jib, — and  sheet  anchor ; 
Of  lower-deck  guns,  and  broadsides  and  chases. 
Of  taffrails  and  topsails,  and  splicing  main-braces, 
And  "  Shiver  my  timbers !"  and  other  odd  phrases 
Employed  by  old  pilots  with  hard-featured  faces ; — 
Of  the  expletives  seafaring  Gentlemen  use. 
The  allusions  they  make  to  the  eyes  of  their  crews ; — 

How  the  Sailors,  too,  swear,     How  they  cherish  their  hair. 
And  what  very  long  pigtails  a  great  many  wear. — 
But,  Reader,  I  scorn  it— the  fact  is,  I  fear, 
To  be  candid,  I  can't  make  these  matters  so  clear 
As  Marryat,  or  Cooper,  or  Captain  Chamier, 
Or  Sir  E.  Lytton  Bulwer,  who  brought  up  the  rear 
Of  the  "  Nauticals,"  just  at  the  end  of  the  year 
Eighteen  thirty-nine — (how  Time  flies ! — Oh,  dear !) — 
"With  a  well-written  preface,  to  make  it  appear 
That  his  play,  the  "  Sea-Captain,"  's  by  no  means  small  beer. 
16 


242  MR.   PETERS' S  STORY. 

There ! — "  brought  up  the  rear" — you  see  there's  a  mistake 

Which  none  of  the  authors  I've  mentioned  would  make : 

I  ought  to  have  said,  that  he  "  sail'd  in  their  wake." — 

So  I'll  merely  observe,  as  the  water  grew  rougher 

The  more  my  poor  hero  continued  to  suffer, 

Till  the  Sailors  themselves  cried,  in  pity,  "  Poor  Buffer ! 


.  I' 


Still  rougher  it  grew,     And  still  harder  it  blew, 
And  the  thunder  kicked  up  such  a  hallibaloo, 
That  even  the  Skipper  began  to  look  blue ; 

While  the  crew,  who  were  few.     Looked  very  queer,  too, 
And  seemed  not  to  know  what  exactly  to  do, 
And  they  who'd  the  charge  of  them  wrote  in  the  logs, 
"  Wind  N.  E. — blows  a  hurricane — rains  cats  and  dogs," 
In  short  it  soon  grew  to  a  tempest  as  rude  as 
That  Shakspeare  describes  near  the  "  still  vext  Bermudas,"* 

When  the  winds,  in  their  sport,     Drove  aside  from  its  port 
The  King's  ship,  with  the  whole  Neapolitan  Court, 
And  swamped  it  to  give  "  the  King's  Son,  Ferdinand,"  a 
Soft  moment  or  two  with  the  Lady  Miranda, 
While  her  Pa  met  the  rest,  and  severely  rebuked  'em 
For  unhandsomely  doing  him  out  of  his  Dukedom. 
You  don't  want  me,  however,  to  paint  you  a  Storm, 
As  so  many  have  done,  and  in  colors  so  warm : 
Lord  Byron,  for  instance,  in  manner  facetious, 
Mr.  Ainsworth  more  gravely, — see  also  Lucretius, 
— A  writer  who  gave  me  no  trifling  vexation 
When  a  youngster  at  school  on  Dean  Colet's  foundation. — 

Suffice  it  to  say     That  the  whole  of  that  day. 
And  the  next,  and  the  next,  they  were  scudding  away 

Quite  out  of  their  course.     Propelled  by  the  force 
Of  those  flatulent  folks  known  in  Classical  story  as 
Aquilo,  Libs,  Notus,  Auster,  and  Boreas, 

Driven  quite  at  their  mercy    'Twixt  Guernsey  and  Jersey, 
Till  at  length  they  came  bump  on  the  rocks  and  the  shallows, 
In  West  longitude  One,  fifty-seven,  near  St.  Maloes ; 

There  you  will  not  be  surprised    That  the  vessel  capsized, 

*  See  Appendix,  p.  254. 


THE  BAGMAN'S  DOG.  243 

Or  that  Blogg,  who  had  made,  from  intestine  commotions, 
His  specifical  gravity  less  than  the  Ocean's, 

Should  go  floating  away,     'Midst  the  surges  and  spray. 
Like  a  cork  in  a  gutter,  which,  swoln  by  a  shower. 
Runs  down  Holborn-hill  about  nine  knots  an  hour. 

You've  seen,  I've  no  doubt,  at  Bartholomew  fair, 
Gentle  Reader, — that  is,  if  you've  ever  been  there, — 
With  their  hands  tied  behind  them,  some  two  or  three  pair 
Of  boys  round  a  bucket  set  up  on  a  chair, 

Skipping,  and  dipping     Eyes,  nose,  chin,  and  lip  in, 
Their  faces  and  hair  with  the  water  all  dripping, 
In  an  anxious  attempt  to  catch  hold  of  a  pippin. 
That  bobs  up  and  down  in  the  water  whenever 
They  touch  it,  as  mocking  the  fruitless  endeavor ; 
Exactly  as  Poets  say, — how,  though,  they  can't  tell  us, — 
Old  Nick's  Nonpareils  play  at  bob  with  poor  Tantalus. 

— Stay ! — I'm  not  clear     But  I'm  rather  out  here ; 
'Twas  the  water  itself  that  slipped  from  him,  I  fear ; 
Faith,  I  can't  recollect — and  I  haven't  Lempriere. — 
No  matter, — poor  Blogg  went  on  ducking  and  bobbing, 
Sneezing  out  the  salt  water,  and  gulping  and  sobbing, 
Just  as  Clarence,  in  Shakspeare,  describes  all  the  qualms  he 
Experienced  while  dreaming  they'd  drowned  him  in  Malmsey. 

"  O  Lord,"  he  thought,  "  what  pain  it  was  to  drown !" 
And  saw  great  fishes  with  great  goggling  eyes. 

Glaring  as  he  was  bobbing  up  and  down. 

And  looking  as  they  thought  him  quite  a  prize ; 

"When,  as  he  sank,  and  all  was  growing  dark, 

A  something  seized  him  with  its  jaws ! — a  shark? — 

No  such  thing,  Reader :— most  opportunely  for  Blogg, 
'Twas  a  very  large,  web-footed;  curly-tailed  Dog ! 


I'm  not  much  of  a  trav'ller,  and  really  can't  boast 
That  I  know  a  great  deal  of  the  Brittany  coast ; 

But  I've  often  heard  say     That  e'en  to  this  day, 


244  MR.  PETERS' S  STORY. 

The  people  of  Granville,  St.  Maloes,  and  thereabout 
Are  a  class  that  society  doesn't  much  care  about ; 
Men  who  gain  a  subsistence  by  contraband  dealing, 
And  a  mode  of  abstraction  strict  people  call  "  stealing ;" 
Notwithstanding  all  which,  they  are  civil  of  speech, 
Above  all  to  a  stranger  who  comes  within  reach ; 

And  they  were  so  to  Blogg     When  the  curly-tailed  Dog 
At  last  dragged  him  out,  high  and  dry,  on  the  beach. 

But  we  all  have  been  told,     By  the  proverb  of  old, 
By  no  means  to  think  "  all  that  glitters  is  gold ;" 

And,  in  fact,  some  advance     That  most  people  in  France 
Join  the  manners  and  air  of  a  MaUre  de  Danse 
To  the  morals  (as  Johnson  of  Chesterfield  said) 
Of  an  elderly  Lady,  in  Babylon  bred. 
Much  addicted  to  flirting,  and  dressing  in  red. — 

Be  this  as  it  might,     It  embarrassed  Blogg  quite 
To  find  those  about  him  so  very  polite. 


A  suspicious  observer  perhaps  might  have  traced 
The  petites  soins,  tendered  with  so  much  good  taste. 
To  the  sight  of  an  old-fashioned  pocket-book,  placed 
In  a  black  leather  belt  well  secured  round  his  waist, 
And  a  ring  set  with  diamonds  his  finger  that  graced. 
So  brilliant  no  one  could  have  guessed  they  were  paste. 

The  group  on  the  shore     Consisted  of  four ; 
You  will  wonder,  perhaps,  there  were  not  a  few  more ; 
But  the  fact  is  they've  not,  in  that  part  of  the  nation, 
What  Malthus  Avould  term  a  "  too  dense  population ;" 
Indeed  the  sole  sign  there  of  man's  habitation 

Was  merely  a  single     Rude  hut  in  a  dingle 
That  led  away  inland  direct  from  the  shingle. 
Its  sides  clothed  with  underwood,  gloomy  and  dark. 
Some  two  hundred  yards  above  high-water  mark ; 

And  thither  the  party,     So  cordial  and  hearty. 
Viz.,  an  old  man,  his  wife,  and  two  lads,  made  a  start,  he, 

The  Bagman,  proceeding,     With  equal  good  breeding. 
To  express,  in  indifferent  French,  all  he  feels. 
The  great  curly-tailed  Dog  keeping  close  to  his  heels. — 


THE  BAGMAN'S  DOG.  245 

They  soon  reached  the  hut,  which  seemed  partly  in  ruin, 
All  the  way  bowing,  chattering,  shrugging,  Mon  Dieuing, 
Grimacing,  and  what  sailors  call  ixirley-vooing. 


Is  it  Paris,  or  Kitchener,  Reader,  exhorts 
You,  whenever  your  stomach's  at  all  out  of  sorts, 
To  try,  if  you  find  richer  viands  won't  stop  in  it, 
A  basin  of  good  mutton  broth  with  a  chop  in  it  ? 
(Such  a  basin  and  chop  as  I  once  heard  a  witty  one 
Call,  at  the  Garrick,  a  "  c — d  Committee  one," 
An  expression,  I  own,  I  do  not  think  a  pretty  one.) 

However,  it's  clear     That,  with  sound  table  beer, 
Such  a  mess  as  I  speak  of  is  very  good  cheer ; 

Especially  too     When  a  person's  w^et  through. 
And  is  hungry,  and  tired,  and  don't  know  what  to  do. 
Now  just  such  a  mess  of  delicious  hot  pottage 
Was  smoking  away  when  they  entered  the  cottage, 
And  casting  a  truly  delicious  perfume 
Through  the  whole  of  an  ugly,  old,  ill-furnished  room ; 

"  Hot,  smoking  hot,"     On  the  fire  was  a  pot 
Well  replenished,  but  really  I  can't  say  with  what ; 
For,  famed  as  the  French  always  are  for  ragouts. 
No  creature  can  tell  what  they  put  in  their  stews, 
Whether  bull-frogs,  old  gloves,  or  old  wigs,  or  old  shoes ; 
Notwithstanding,  when  ofiered  I  rarely  refuse, 
Any  more  than  poor  Blogg  did,  when,  seeing  the  reeky 
Repast  placed  before  him,  scarce  able  to  speak,  he 
In  ecstasy  muttered,  "  By  Jove,  Cocky-leeky !" 

In  an  instant,  as  soon     As  they  gave  him  a  spoon, 
Every  feeling  and  faculty  bent  on  the  gruel,  he 
No  more  blamed  Fortune  for  treating  him  cruelly. 
But  fell  tooth  and  nail  on  the  soup  and  the  houilli. 


Meanwhile  that  old  man  standing  by 
Subducted  his  long  coat-tails  on  high, 
With  his  back  to  the  fire,  as  if  to  dry 


246  MR.  PETERS' S  STORY. 

A  part  of  his  dress  which  the  watery  sky 

Had  visited  rather  inclemently. — 

Blandly  he  smiled,  but  still  he  looked  sly, 

And  a  something  sinister  lurked  in  his  eye. 

Indeed,  had  you  seen  him  his  maritime  dress  in. 

You'd  have  owned  his  appearance  was  not  prepossessing ; 

He'd  a  "  dreadnought"  coat,  and  heavy  sabots 

With  thick  wooden  soles  turned  up  at  the  toes. 

His  nether  man  cased  in  a  striped  quelque  chose, 

And  a  hump  on  his  back,  and  a  great  hooked  nose, 

So  that  nine  out  of  ten  would  be  led  to  suppose 

That  the  person  before  them  was  Punch  in  plain  clothes. 

Yet  still,  as  I  told  you,  he  smiled  on  all  present. 
And  did  all  that  lay  in  his  power  to  look  pleasant. 

The  old  woman,  too.     Made  a  mighty  ado, 
Helping  her  guest  to  a  deal  of  the  stew ; 
She  fished  up  the  meat,  and  she  helped  him  to  that, 
She  helped  him  to  lean,  and  she  helped  him  to  fat. 
And  it  looked  like  Hare — but  it  might  have  been  Cat. 
The  little  garcons  too  strove  to  express 
Their  sympathy  towards  the  "  Child  of  distress" 
With  a  great  deal  of  juvenile  French  politesse  : 

But  the  Bagman  bluff    Continued  to  "  stuff" 
Of  the  fat  and  the  lean,  and  the  tender  and  tough. 
Till  they  thought  he  would  never  cry,  "  Hold,  enough !" 
And  the  old  woman's  tones  became  far  less  agreeable, 
Sounding  like  peste!  and  sacre!  and  diable! 

I've  seen  an  old  saw,  which  is  well  worth  repeating. 
That  says, 

**<Sfrioti  iSatpnge 

You'll  find  it  so  printed  by  (KaXton  or  SSaSttfegn, 
Aud  a  very  good  proverb  it  is,  to  my  thinking. 

Blogg  thought  so  too  ;—    As  he  finished  his  stew, 
His  ear  caught  the  sound  of  the  word  ''MorbleuT 
Pronounced  by  the  old  woman  under  her  breath. 
Now,  not  knowing  what  she  could  mean  by  "  Blue  Death !" 


THE  BAGMAN'S  BOO.  247 

He  conceived  she  referred  to  a  delicate  brewing 
Which  is  almost  synonymous, — namely,  "  Blue  Ruin." 
So  he  pursed  up  his  lip  to  a  smile,  and  with  glee, 
In  his  cockneyfied  accent,  responded,  "  Oh,  Vee  /" 

Which  made  her  understand  he    Was  asking  for  brandy ; 
So  she  turned  to  the  cupboard,  and,  having  some  handy, 
Produced,  rightly  deeming  he  would  not  object  to  it, 
An  orbicular  bulb  with  a  very  long  neck  to  it ; 
In  fact  you  perceive  her  mistake  was  the  same  as  his, 
Each  of  them  "  reasoning  right  from  wrong  premises ;" 

— And  here,  by  the  way,     Allow  me  to  say — 
Kind  Reader,  you  sometimes  permit  me  to  stray — 
'Tis  strange  the  French  prove,  when  they  take  to  aspersing, 
So  inferior  to  us  in  the  science  of  cursing ; 

Kick  a  Frenchman  down  stairs,     How  absurdly  he  swears, 
And  how  odd  'tis  to  hear  him,  when  beat  to  a  jelly, 
Roar  out,  in  a  passion,  "  Blue  Death !"  and  "  Blue  Belly !" 


"  To  return  to  our  sheep  "  from  this  little  digression : — 

Blogg's  features  assumed  a  complacent  expression 

As  he  emptied  his  glass,  and  she  gave  him  a  fresh  one ; 

Too  little  he  heeded     How  fast  they  succeeded. 
Perhaps  you  or  I  might  have  done,  though,  as  he  did ; 
For  when  once  Madam  Fortune  deals  out  her  hard  raps, 

It's  amazing  to  think    How  one  "  cottons  "  to  Drink ! 
At  such  times,  of  all  things  in  nature,  perhaps. 
There's  not  one  that  is  half  so  seducing  as  Schnapps. 


Mr.  Blogg,  besides  being  uncommonly  dry, 
Was,  like  most  other  Bagmen,  remarkably  shy, 

— "  Did  not  like  to  deny  " —    "  Felt  obliged  to  comply  " 
Every  time  that  she  asked  him  to  "  wet  t'other  eye :" 
For  'twas  worthy  remark  that  she  spared  not  the  stoup, 
Though  before  she  had  seemed  so  to  grudge  him  the  soup. 

At  length  the  fumes  rose    To  his  brain  ;  and  his  nose 
Gave  hints  of  a  strong  disposition  to  doze. 
And  a  yearning  to  seek  "  horizontal  repose." — 


248  MR.  PETERS' S  STORY. 

His  queer-looking  host,     "Who,  firm  at  his  post, 
During  all  the  long  meal  had  continued  to  toast 

That  garment  'twere  rude  to     Do  more  than  allude  to, 
Perceived,  from  his  breathing  and  nodding,  the  views 
Of  his  guest  were  directed  to  "  taking  a  snooze :" 
So  he  caught  up  a  lamp  in  his  huge  dirty  paw, 
With  (as  Blogg  used  to  tell  it)  "  Mounseer,  sivivvy  maw  /" 

And  "  marshalled  "  him  so     "  The  way  he  should  go," 
Up  stairs  to  an  attic,  large,  gloomy,  and  low. 

Without  table  or  chair.     Or  a  movable  there. 
Save  an  old-fashioned  bedstead,  much  out  of  repair, 
That  stood  at  the  end  most  removed  from  the  stair. — 

With  a  grin  and  a  shrug     The  host  points  to  the  rug. 
Just  as  much  as  to  say,  "  There ! — I  think  you'll  be  snug !" 

Puts  the  light  on  the  floor.     Walks  to  the  door, 
Makes  a  formal  Salaam,  and  is  then  seen  no  more : 
When  just  as  the  ear  lost  the  sound  of  his  tread. 
To  the  Bagman's  surprise,  and  at  first  to  his  dread, 
The  great  curly-tailed  Dog  crept  from  under  the  bed ! — 


— It's  a  very  nice  thing  when  a  man's  in  a  fright, 
And  thinks  matters  all  wrong,  to  find  matters  all  right ; 
As,  for  instance,  when  going  home  late-ish  at  night 
Through  a  Churchyard,  and  seeing  a  thing  all  in  white, 
Which,  of  course,  one  is  led  to  consider  a  Sprite, 

To  find  that  the  Ghost     Is  merely  a  post, 
Or  a  miller,  or  chalky-faced  donkey  at  most ; 
Or,  when  taking  a  walk  as  the  evenings  begin 
To  close,  or,  as  some  people  call  it,  "  draw  in," 
And   some  undefined   form,   "looming   large"   through   the 

haze. 
Presents  itself,  right  in  your  path,  to  your  gaze. 

Inducing:  a  dread     Of  a  knock  on  the  head, 
Or  a  severed  carotid,  to  find  that,  instead 
Of  one  of  those  ruffians  who  murder  and  fleece  men. 
It's  your  uncle,  or  one  of  the  "  Rural  Policemen  ;" — 

Then  the  blood  flows  again     Through  artery  and  vein ; 
You're  delighted  with  what  just  before  gave  you  pain; 


THE  BAO MAN'S  DOQ.  249 

You  laugh  at  your  fears — and  your  friend  in  the  fog 

Meets  a  -welcome  as  cordial  as  Anthony  Blogg 

Now  bestowed  on  ]m  friend — the  great  curly-tailed  Dog. 

For  the  Dog  leaped  up,  and  his  paws  found  a  place 

On  each  side  his  neck  in  a  canine  embrace, 

And  he  licked  Blogg's  hands,  and  he  licked  his  face, 

And  he  waggled  his  tail  as  much  as  to  say, 

"  i\Ir.  Blogg,  we've  foregathered  before  to-day  !" 

And  the  Bagman  saw,  as  he  now  sprang  up. 

What,  beyond  all  doubt,     He  might  have  found  out 
Before,  had  he  not  been  so  eager  to  sup, 
'Twas  Sancho ! — the  Dog  he  had  reared  from  a  pup ! — 
The  Dog  who  when  sinking  had  seized  his  hair, — 
The  Dog  who  had  saved,  and  conducted  him  there, — 
The  Dog  he  had  lost  out  of  Billiter  Square ! ! 

It's  passing  sweet,     An  absolute  treat. 
When  friends,  long  severed  by  distance,  meet,^- 
With  what  warmth  and  affection  each  other  they  greet ! 
Especially  too,  as  we  very  well  know, 
If  there  seems  any  chance  of  a  little  cadeau, 
A  "  Present  from  Brighton,"  or  "  Token"  to  show, 
In  the  shape  of  a  work-box,  ring,  bracelet,  or  so. 
That  our  friends  don't  forget  us,  although  they  may  go 
To  Ramsgate,  or  Rome,  or  Fernando  Po. 
If  some  little  advantage  seems  likely  to  start. 
From  a  fifty-pound  note  to  a  two-penny  tart, 
It's  surprising  to  see  how  it  softens  the  heart. 
And   you'll   find   those  whose  hopes   from   the   other   are 

strongest. 
Use,  in  common,  endearments  the  thickest  and  longest. 

But,  it  was  not  so  here ;     For  although  it  is  clear, 
When  abroad,  and  we  have  not  a  single  friend  near. 
E'en  a  cur  that  will  love  us  becomes  very  dear. 
And  the  balance  of  interest  'twixt  him  and  the  Dog 
Of  course  was  inclining  to  Anthony  Blogg, 

Yet  he,  first  of  all,  ceased    To  encourage  the  beast, 
Perhaps  thinking  "  Enough  is  as  good  as  a  feast ;" 


250  MR.  PETERS' S  STORY. 

And  besides,  as  we've  said,  being  sleepy  and  mellow, 

He  grew  tired  of  patting,  and  crying  "  Poor  fellow !" 

So  his  smile  by  degrees  hardened  into  a  frown, 

And  his  "  That's  a  good  dog !"  into  "  Down,  Sancho !  down !" 

But  nothing  could  stop  his  mute  fav'rite's  caressing, 

Who,  in  fact,  seemed  resolved  to  prevent  his  undressing, 

Using  paws,  tail,  and  head.     As  if  he  had  said, 
"  Most  beloved  of  masters,  pray,  don't  go  to  bed ; 
You  had  much  better  sit  up  and  pat  me  instead  !" 
Nay,  at  last,  when,  determined  to  take  some  repose, 
Blogg  threw  himself  down  on  the  outside  the  clothes, 

Spite  of  all  he  could  do,     The  dog  jumped  up  too. 
And  kept  him  awake  with  his  very  cold  nose ; 

Scratching  and  whining.     And  moaning  and  pining, 
Till  Blogg  really  believed  he  must  have  some  design  in 
Thus  breaking  his  rest ;  above  all,  when  at  length 
The  dog  scratched  him  off  from  the  bed  by  sheer  strength. 

Extremely  annoyed  by  the  "  tarnation  whop,"  as  it 
's  called  in  Kentuck,  on  his  head  and  its  opposite, 

Blogg  showed  fight ;     When  he  saw,  by  the  light 
Of  the  flickering  candle,  that  had  not  yet  quite 
Burnt  down  in  the  socket,  though  not  over  bright, 
Certain  dark-colored  stains,  as  of  blood  newly  spilt. 
Revealed  by  the  dog's  having  scratched  off  the  quilt, — 
AVhich  hinted  a  story  of  horror  and  guilt  !— 

'Twas  "  no  mistake,"—    He  was  "  wide  awake  " 
In  an  instant ;  for,  when  only  decently  drunk, 
Nothing  sobers  a  man  so  completely  as  "  funk." 

And  hark !— what's  that  ?—    They  have  got  into  chat 
In  the  kitchen  below— what  the  deuce  are  they  at?— 
There's  the  ugly  old  fisherman  scolding  his  wife — 
And  she— by  the  Pope !  she's  whetting  a  knife  !— 

At  each  twist     Of  her  wrist, 

And  her  great  mutton  fist. 
The  edge  of  the  weapon  sounds  shriller  and  louder ! — 

The  fierce  kitchen  fire    Had  not  made  Blogg  perspire 
Half  so  much,  or  a  dose  of  the  best  James's  powder.— 


TUE  BAGMAN'S  DOG.  251 


It  ceases — all's  silent! — and  now,  I  declare, 
There's  somebody  crawls  uj)  that  rickety  stair. 


The  horrid  old  ruffian  comes,  cat-like,  creeping; — 

He  opens  the  door  just  sufficient  to  peep  in, 

And  sees,  as  he  fancies,  the  Bagman  sleeping ! 

For  Blogg,  when  he'd  once  ascertained  that  there  was  some 

"  Precious  mischief"  on  foot,  had  resolved  to  play  "  'possum ;" — 

Down  he  went,  legs  and  head.     Flat  on  the  bed, 
Apparently  sleeping  as  sound  as  the  dead ; 
While,  though  none  who  looked  at  him  would  think  such  a 

thing, 
Every  nerve  in  his  frame  was  braced  up  for  a  spring. 

Then,  just  as  the  villain     Crept,  stealthily  still,  in, 
And  you'd  not  have  insured  his  guest's  life  for  a  shilling. 
As  the  knife  gleamed  on  high,  bright  and  sharp  as  a  razor, 
Blogg,  starting  upright,  "tipped"  the  fellow  "a  facer;" — 
— Down  went  man  and  weapon. — Of  all  sorts  of  blows, 
From  what  Mr.  Jackson  reports,  I  suppose 
There  are  few  that  surpass  a  flush  hit  on  the  nose. 

Now  had  I  the  pen  of  old  Ossian  or  Homer 

(Though  each  of  these  names  some  pronounce  a  misnomer, 

And  say  the  first  person     Was  called  James  M'Pherson, 
While  as  to  the  second,  they  stoutly  declare 
He  was  no  one  knows  who,  and  born  no  one  knows  where), 
Or  had  I  the  quill  of  Pierce  Egan,  a  writer 
Acknowledged  the  best  theoretical  fighter 

For  the  last  twenty  years,     By  the  lively  young  Peers, 
Who,  doffing  their  coronets,  collars,  and  ermine,  treat 
Boxers  to  "  Max,"  at  the  One  Tun  in  Jermyn  Street ; — 
I  say,  could  I  borrow  these  gentlemen's  Muses, 
More  skilled  than  my  meek  one  in  "  fibbiugs  "  and  bruises, 

I'd  describe  now  to  you     As  "  prime  a  set-to," 
And  regular  "  turn-up,"  as  ever  you  knew ; 
Not  inferior  in  "  bottom  "  to  aught  you  have  read  of 
Since  Cribb,  years  ago,  half  knocked  Molyneux's  head  oK 


252  MR.  PETERS' S  STORY. 

But  my  dainty  Urania  says,  "  Such  things  are  shocking !" 

Lace  mittens  she  loves,     Detesting  "  the  Gloves ;" 
And  turning,  with  air  most  disdainfully  mocking, 
From  Melpomene's  buskin,  adopts  the  silk  stocking. 

So,  as  far  as  I  can  see,     I  must  leave  you  to  "  fancy" 
The  thumps  and  the  bumps,  and  the  ups  and  the  downs. 
And  the  taps,  and  the  slaps,  and  the  raps  on  the  crowns, 
That  passed  'twixt  the  Husband,  Wife,  Bagman,  and  Dog, 
As  Blogg  rolled  over  them,  and  they  rolled  over  Blogg, 

While  what's  called  "  the  Claret"     Flew  over  the  garret,- 

Merely  stating  the  fact,     As  each  other  they  whacked. 
The  Dog  his  old  Master  most  gallantly  backed ; 
Making  both  the  gargons,  who  came  running  in,  sheer  off, 
With  "  Hippolyte's  "  thumb  and  "Alphonse's"  left  ear  off; 

Next,  making  a  stoop  on     The  buffeting  group  on 
The  floor,  rent  in  tatters  the  old  woman's  jt<po?i; 
Then  the  old  man  turned  up,  and  a  fresh  bite  of  Sancho's 
Tore  out  the  whole  seat  of  his  striped  Calimancoes. — 

Eeally,  which  way    This  desperate  fray 
Might  have  ended  at  last,  I'm  not  able  to  say, 
The  dog  keeping  thus  the  assassins  at  bay : 
But  a  few  fresh  arrivals  decided  the  day ; 

For  bounce  went  the  door.     In  came  half  a  score 
Of  the  passengers,  sailors,  and  one  or  two  more 
Who  had  aided  the  party  in  gaining  the  shore ! 


It's  a  great  many  years  ago — mine  then  were  few — 
Since  I  spent  a  short  time  in  old  Courageux; — 

I  think  that  they  say     She  had  been,  in  her  day, 
A  First-rate,  but  was  then  what  they  termed  a  Easee, — 
And  they  took  me  on  board  in  the  Downs,  where  she  lay 
(Captain  Wilkinson  held  the  command,  by  the  way). 
In  her  I  picked  up,  on  that  single  occasion. 
The  little  I  know  that  concerns  Navigation, 
And  obtained,  inter  alia,  some  vague  information 
Of  a  practice  which  often,  in  cases  of  robbing. 
Is  adopted  on  shipboard — I  think  it's  called  "  cobbing." 
How  it's  managed  exactly  I  really  can't  say. 


THE  BAGMAN'S  DOG.  253 

But  I  think  that  a  bootjack  is  brought  into  play — 
That  is,  if  I'm  right : — it  exceeds  my  ability 

To  tell  how  'tis  done ;     But  the  system  is  one 
Of  which  Sancho's  exploit  would  increase  the  facility, 
And,  from  all  I  can  learn,  I'd  much  rather  be  robbed 
Of  the  little  I  have  in  my  purse  than  be  "  cobbed  ;" 

That's  mere  matter  of  taste : 

But  the  Frenchman  was  placed — 
I  mean  the  old  scoundrel  whose  actions  we've  traced — 
In  such  a  position  that,  on  this  unmasking, 
His  consent  was  the  last  thing  the  men  thought  of  asking. 

The  old  woman,  too.     Was  obliged  to  go  through, 
With  her  boys,  the  rough  discipline  used  by  the  crew, 
Who,  before  they  let  one  of  the  set  see  the  back  of  them, 
"  Cobbed"  the  whole  party,— ay,  "  every  man  Jack  of  them." 

MORAL. 

And  now.  Gentle  Reader,  before  that  I  say 
Farewell  for  the  present,  and  wish  you  good  day, 
Attend  to  the  moral  I  draw  from  my  lay : — 

If  ever  you  travel,  like  Anthony  Blogg, 
Be  wary  of  strangers !— don't  take  too  much  grog ! 
And  don't  fall  asleep,  if  you  should,  like  a  hog  !— 
Above  all,  carry  with  you  a  curly-tailed  Dog ! 

Lastly,  don't  act  like  Blogg,  who,  I  say  it  wth  blushing, 
Sold  Sancho  next  month  for  two  guineas,  at  Flushing ; 
But  still  on  these  words  of  the  Bard  keep  a  fixed  eye, 
Ingratum  si  dixeris,  omnia  dixti! 

L'Envoye. 

I  felt  so  disgusted  with  Blogg,  from  sheer  shame  of  him 
I  never  once  thought  to  inquire  what  became  of  him ; 
If  you  want  to  know.  Reader,  the  way,  I  opine, 

To  achieve  your  design,—    Mind,  it's  no  wish  of  mine,— 
Is  (a  penny  will  do 't)  by  addressing  a  line 
To  Turner,  Dry,  Weipersyde,  Rogers,  and  Pine. 


254  MR.  PETERS' S  STORY. 


APPENDIX.* 


Since  penning  this  stanza,  a  learned  Antiquary 
Has  put  my  poor  Muse  in  no  trifling  quandary 
By  writing  an  essay  to  prove  that  he  knows  a 

Spot  which,  in  truth,  is     The  real  "  Bermoothes," 
In  the  Mediterranean, — now  called  Lampedosa ; 
— For  proofs,  having  made,  as  he  further  alleges,  stir, 
An  entry  was  found  in  the  old  Parish  Register, 
The  which  at  his  instance  the  excellent  Vicar  ex- 
Tracted  :  viz.,  "  Caliban,  base  son  of  Sycorax." 

— He  had  rather,  by  half.     Have  found  Prospero's  "  Staff;' 
But  'twas  useless  to  dig,  for  the  want  of  pick  or  axe. — 
Colonel  Pasley,  however,  'tis  everywhere  said. 
Now  he's  blown  up  the  old  Royal  George  at  Spithead, 
And  the  great  cliff  at  Dover,  of  which  we've  all  read, 
Takes  his  whole  apparatus,  and  goes  out  to  look 
And  see  if  he  can't  try  and  blow  up  "  the  Book." 
— Gentle  Reader,  farewell ! — K  I  add  one  more  line, 
"  He'll  be,  in  all  likelihood,  blowing  up  mine  /" 

*  See  page  242. 


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